The Houseguest
by gypsy rosalie
Summary: Having lost all her money and been evicted from her flat, Martina finds herself a somewhat unwilling victim of the Boswells' hospitality. Meanwhile, Celia and Joey are engaged in a neighbourly war over the right to park in front of her house. Eventual Joetina.
1. The beginning of the end

**Yay, I'm back from the dead! Or the almost-dead, anyway. Sorry, I haven't been around delivering new fics, but uni was hectic for a while, and then I got hit by a car, and my head gets very addled sometimes from the injury (which is also, conveniently enough, my legitimate excuse for if this fic completely sucks.) I started this fic on New Year's Eve, and it's taken me til now to actually get any of it up, which shows my total laziness. It is, for the first time in quite a while, NOT related to At the End of the Day in any way, shape or form. I haven't abandoned that universe, and am still working on several fics for it which I shall try and get up as soon as possible, but in the meantime, here is a bit more of a lighthearted, less attempting-to-be-meaningful fic. I promise lots of Joetina, if you're patient.**

* * *

><p><strong>1<br>The Beginning of the end**

Martina's stomach was what made her jolt awake, growling quietly, twanging painfully, until she at once wanted to double over and stretch out with the unpleasantness of it. Oh, she was so bloody _hungry_, and now this hunger was taking its toll on her sleep time too, meaning when she arrived at work, she had heavy sore eyes and very little energy along with the usual headache that accompanied her. She twisted and thrashed, trying to get herself into a better position, one which squashed her stomach against the mattress in an attempt to quell the hunger pains, but to no avail. The instant she moved, the last of the blankets had rolled over with Shifty and merged into a snoring, rugged-up scroll, and she was left not only tired and hungry but freezing as well.

She lay on her stomach, her head turned in her leech lover's direction, cheek against her pillow as she squinted at him and let her mind wander. Shifty snored on, completely oblivious to her discomfort, as if he found it a piece of cake to sleep easy at night. As if he had a right to.

It wasn't his fault, of course. It was _never_ his fault, the blame always falling onto the bastard government, the over-friendliness of his mother, the uncontrollable demon that resided in him and urged him to steal things. His exes. The Boswells. Her. By the time she'd gotten him out of the police station, several hundred pounds poorer and, totally humiliated, dragged him home, the fault lay on anyone and everyone within a hundred mile radius but Shifty himself. Somehow, despite being responsible for breaking into the car, for driving it who knows how many miles and eventually making a wreck of it around somebody else's vehicle, his gob would go on and on about how it still wasn't- and couldn't be- his fault. And so, naturally, by Shifty's way of thinking, it also wasn't his fault that she'd nearly bankrupted herself paying his bail, and hence was starving right this minute.

It was all right for him. He didn't feel the effects of near-poverty. When dinner-time came around and she duly announced that, due to his shortcomings and the fact that her pay packet hadn't come yet, there wasn't anything to eat, he'd responded with an _oh, well_, and the reassurance that she wasn't to worry- he could go and eat with the Boswells. And so he'd gone, problem solved, never mind about her. Never mind that, in saving him from gaol, she'd put herself into a position where she was suffering from lack of food. Not even an invite to go with him to the Boswells'- not that she would have accepted it, but the token wouldn't have gone astray. For all he claimed he loved her, he didn't care if she stayed here, alone and broke and starving, while he went out and gorged. He just _didn't care_.

She'd thought letting him move in with her had been a good idea at the time- she'd envisioned hot baths, long kisses, sitting together and chatting and a flat full of love and everything domestic life should be And, just like every other time she'd been daft enough to think something nice could finally happen to her, she was wrong. Shifty didn't enrich her life, he ruined it. Oh, she could give him a shove right now, she really could. Shove him right off the bed, she would, if she could, then take all her blankets back and let him suffer for once.

But she hadn't the energy. All she'd managed to scrounge up for herself tonight was a Cup-A-Soup, and there was little energy, let alone nourishment, to be gained from a bit of hot water and a few rehydrated vegetables. Especially as, what with already being behind on the rent, and unwilling to spend more money than she had to, that had been all she'd had all day.

All Martina could do was lie there, quietly resenting him, and this she did with as much vigour as she had left, until the night slipped away and dawn broke.

* * *

><p>'Snuff,' said a voice in his ear. A warm, slobbery sort of breath caressed his neck. Something hairy brushed against his face.<p>

One of Joey's arms emerged from the sheets, and he decided, as he came into contact with a wet nose and an even wetter tongue, that either Mongy had come to wake him up, or he'd gone to bed with a very frightening creature indeed.

He cracked an eye open and confirmed, to his relief, that it was the former.

'Hey there, son,' Joey whispered. The dog replied by licking his mouth, and Joey spluttered and hastily wiped it on his arm.

'Ugh, okay, okay, Mongy! I'm up!' He stretched his arms over his head, taking in the sleeping form of Adrian, and a very dishevelled Billy, who must've returned sometime in the middle of the night after yet another failed reconciliation with Julie. He looked over at Mongy, and then at the lead the dog had dropped on the floor beside his bed.

'All right then, tactful,' he murmured, dragging himself out of bed. 'Just a quick one, all right? I need to have an early breakfast so I can get down the DHSS when it opens.'

Outside on the street, a gentle rain pattered against the pavement, drumming on his Jag and rendering his thorough clean of it yesterday pointless, but the weather didn't deter Mongy in the least. He bounded along, yappy and energetic, leaping at random front doors when the mood took him, and pulling other people's papers from their letterboxes.

'Steady on,' Joey moaned, struggling to keep up without scuffing his shoes. 'Wait for me, Mongy!'

The dog took no notice, and Joey felt himself being dragged further from home, speed picking up as they hurtled down the hill towards the river. For a creature that had to be nearing old age by now, the dog was incredibly sprightly today, and Joey felt his spirits lifting as he gave up restraining him and ran with him, letting out a childish yell of delight as they careened down the slope. His insides seemed oddly light, the worries that had plagued him yesterday gone for a moment. For just a few seconds, in the fresh air and acting a fool, he could forget that Aveline was gone, that Nellie didn't know how to cope with that, that Jack still wasn't back, and hadn't turned up for his sister's wedding, and that he was once again in Roxy's bad books. All the stress of being Joey of the Boswells, and the responsibilities and duties that came with that name and that bloodline, were as little insignificant fly-specks in the back of his blissfully empty brain.

'Oh!' came a voice, and the noise hit Joey's ears just before he hit the woman.

'Ah, Celia!' He wasn't particularly interested in impressing Celia Higgins, but he had a reputation, and thus had to _try_ to restore his image. 'Greetings! Didn't see you there, I just, er, lost control of the dog…'

Celia laughed, a sound Joey didn't think he'd ever been privy to before.

'Oh, you don't 'ave to explain anything to me, Joey. It's nice to see you lookin' 'appy- you haven't for ages now.'

Joey squinted. 'And how would you know that, then?'

Celia just gave him a sad, knowing smile.

'I live next door, love. And you _would_ keep parking your car in front of my 'ouse. I get a good view of your face when you're getting out of your car right in front of me front window…'

Ah, yes, she had to bring that up. Since she'd moved in, they'd had a merry old war about who owned whose parking space of late- as far as Joey was concerned, he was winning, and a not-so-subtle comment every once in a while wasn't going to make him change his mind.

'Well, the thing about that is, sweetheart,' he said, 'you've been here how long? Six months now? I've 'ad the car for five years. The Jag was here long before you, and she's used to bein' parked in that space. As far as she's concerned, that is _her_ space.' He bowed, sidling around her and tugging lightly on Mongy's leash.

'Come on, son. Let's not bother this nice lady any longer.'

And he continued on down the street, Mongy prancing along in front of him and Celia undoubtedly glaring from behind him.

* * *

><p>Hmm. What bounty would the cupboard yield today? Pot Noodle, instant soup, and oh, good, if it didn't look like more Pot Noodle.<p>

Utterly sick of the sight of cheap alternatives to decent food, Martina slammed the kitchen cupboard and took her frustration out by abusing her percolator, slamming her fist against it before realising that, in her addled, sleep-deprived, other-things-on-her-mind state, she hadn't put any coffee in the filter (and what was more, she didn't have any, either) and shutting it off again. Well, there went her last chance at staying properly alert, or getting into something that even vaguely resembled a good mood.

And when Shifty wandered in, dishevelled but showing obvious signs of having had a good night's sleep, her temper went from foul to worse.

'Oh, if it isn't me good luck Leprechaun,' she said bitterly. Her lover paused halfway to the table, a sheepish look creeping across his face. From her position at the other end, her head only partially raised from her arms and her eyes only open enough to resemble letterboxes, Martina watched him go through the phases of realising she was angry with him: the smirk and scoff denial phase, followed by the hoping-to-be-let-off smile phase, and then, to complete the sequence, the turned-down-eyebrows annoyance phase.

'Aw, Sweet Mother of- oh, why are you looking at me like that? What have I done now?' He stalked past her towards the cupboards. 'What's there to eat? Oh, what, Martina? I can feel you lookin' at me! Why am I in the doghouse now, for goodness' sake?'

'I 'ope you like Pot Noodle,' she growled over her shoulder, ignoring his other questions, 'that's what we're reduced to.'

She turned in her chair, leaning her arm against the back and watching as he messed up her nicely ordered shelves in his search for something that wasn't there.

'Oh, I can't eat this,' he said, taking one of the containers in his hands, 'I can't eat this! I'd rather prison food, I would!'

This last comment pushed Martina over the line.

'I wish you'd told me that sooner!' she snapped. 'You could've stayed in there and 'ad all yer gourmet meals provided to you fer free, and saved me the last o' me rent money and grocery budget on yer bail!'

Shifty spun around, the Pot Noodle still in his hand.

'Are you sayin' it's my fault you can't provide a decent meal?'

Oh, Martina wanted to strike him, she really did.

'What d'you think I'm sayin'?' she thundered. 'If it weren't fer you- you and your habitual stealing- _and_ _don't_ give me that face,' she added, as Shifty started to pull his _stealing, who, me?_ expression. 'I've 'ad it up to 'ere with cleanin' up after your messes!'

Shifty gave a grunt of irritation, putting the container down by the sink rather than back in the cupboard, which only served to infuriate Martina further, and storming back towards the door.

'I'll go 'ave breakfast with the Boswells, then! At least they won't point a little mental gun at me 'ead because of the state of _their_ pantry!'

'Oh, yeah, go and dine in the luxury of the Grand 'All o' Kelsall Street!' she yelled after him. 'Well, if you'd rather eat with them, you may as well move back in with 'em and be done with it! Let them feed yer and put up with yer for a while!'

The door to the flat slammed. Martina removed the hands that were holding her head up and let her face fall into the table.

* * *

><p>The sight that greeted Joey when he finally turned Mongy around and headed for home made him howl with laughter. One of the Boswells' precious (and also rather dubiously acquired) traffic cones had been picked up, and plonked rather untidily in front of Number Thirty-two. Joey shook his head, continuing to roar and, releasing Mongy's leash and allowing the dog to scamper home and scratch upon the door, bent and placed the traffic cone on the pavement. With a grin foreseeing the mischief he was about to perform, he pulled his car keys from his pocket and strode towards his Jag, parked in its proper place outside his own house.<p>

_You can't outwit a Boswell, sweetheart_, Joey thought as he started the engine and put the car in reverse. _You can't outwit a Boswell._

* * *

><p>'You-cannot-sit-there!'<p>

'And why not, I ask ye?'

'Because THAT-IS-JACK'S SEAT!'

'Heh hem,' Joey cleared his throat. His Mam, and Shifty, who had apparently waltzed in while he was out on his walk, paused their argument to turn and acknowledge him.

'Greetings!' Joey said, sauntering over and taking his place at the table. 'And what brings you here this mornin', Shifty? Haven't you got a home to go to?'

He said this in jest, a smile on his face and a laugh in his voice, but Joey's last comment was only partially meant as a joke, and inside, he couldn't chase away a little niggling feeling of annoyance. For all Shifty's saying he'd built himself a 'little independent dinghy', that he didn't need their services or their free food anymore, he was round there so often it was as if he hadn't left there at all. There was no food in the fridge, or he didn't fancy what Martina was cooking, and he was back round here. He had a row with Martina, and he was back here, and leaving socks all around Grandad's living room. He fancied 'a bit of peace' and they'd find him lying on their sofa with his feet up. It was Billy and Julie all over again. At least, though, he conceded, Shifty was residing a bit further away than over the road, and Martina, being far less brash than their lovely Miss Jefferson, wasn't as inclined to come storming over after him and subject them all to a shouting match in the front room.

Then again, as soon as he crossed the threshold of either their house or Grandad's, Celia went on the rampage, which was just as bad…

_If only he'd just go back to Martina's and stay there_, Joey found himself thinking far too frequently. His Mam had enough on her plate as it was, what with Jack's supposedly imminent return (that was taking a dreadfully long time), coping with the fact that Aveline was now in wedded bliss with a Proddy preacher, and still having to cook and clean and take care of the lot of them as she always had. And so did the others- what with the Billy-and-Julie saga, Adrian's newfound artistic temperament and all the rest of it- Shifty was just adding another burden to an already heavy load.

But as soon as he'd had this thought, he would immediately shake his head and retract it. He wouldn't wish that on Martina. Poor girl had suffered enough. He could only imagine what life with Shifty full-time did to someone who looked like she was on the verge of cracking on the best of days. She probably needed the peace, too. Probably valued the time to herself.

With that in mind, Joey pushed away his resentment towards Shifty being here. He could cope with his cousin for a little while- they all could. They'd done it before- and he was family after all. They couldn't begrudge the man a bit of food and company, nor his partner the occasional relief from him.

'There was only Pot Noodle for me over there,' Shifty was saying now, as he overrode Nellie's wishes to have Jack's chair saved in case today was the day he returned, and seated himself in it anyway, 'and I can't live on that! She budgets all the time, does Martina- that's what I have to live with, you know! Thinks she's going to go bankrupt, she does- it's maddening, I tell you, maddening…'

'Yeees, I can imagine she's going bankrupt, having to service _your_ every need!' Nellie snapped, unwittingly voicing Joey's exact thoughts. The word 'bankrupt' had worried him- he might have to have a quick word with his cousin later today about that, ascertain exactly what was going on. He may not know Martina all that well, but from what he _did_ know, she wouldn't be saying something like that without good reason. If things were really as bad as all that…

'And _that_,' Nellie was saying again, 'is JACK'S-SEAT!'

'Mam, Mam,' Joey raised his hand. 'Jack's not back yet, and if he hasn't rung to say he's even on his way yet, then I don't think he'll be needing breakfast today. Okay?'

Nellie would undoubtedly have said more, but Billy chose that moment to return from his latest sojourn over the road, and that soon put an end to any conversation that didn't involve marriage, babies, divorce and solicitors.

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><p>Walking to work did nothing. Getting out in the fresh air didn't do anything to clear her head, despite what all the clichés said; a bit of exercise did nothing to cheer her up. How could it? How could anything do anything for her anymore?<p>

Martina wasn't even sure what made her bothered enough to drag herself up off the floor, let alone out the house and along to work, where the clamouring clients and foul-mouthed scroungers were bound to add extra misery to her already woeful state. She would have been perfectly happy to just lie on the kitchen tiles until she died- but then again, thinking practically, she wouldn't have even been able to do _that_, after what had just…

As if this morning hadn't been bad enough, with no food, no Shifty and the knowledge that there was no money in her bank account either, the post had had to come. Martina had already been at bursting point, a hair's breadth away from tearing her hair out and kicking a hole in the wall, and the envelopes had come thudding through her front door like the footsteps of doom, bringing with them the piece of paper that would completely destroy her, make her fall to pieces.

And Martina had _had_ to get up and go and pick it all up. She'd _had_ to open her letters, finding an electricity bill and a water bill she knew she couldn't pay for. And she'd _had_ to rip open that third envelope and read the death sentence it contained.

She'd been worried about it, of course. But she'd thought she'd had more time than this, a chance to get a couple more wage packets and get a little less behind on the rent, to redeem herself somehow. She'd thought she had time, she'd thought she had _hope_, at the very least.

And, as usual, she'd been fool enough to think there was anything good in this life. She'd opened that fateful envelope, and read those two fateful words- EVICTION NOTICE.

And a few seconds later Martina had come to on the floor, the letter beside her, not a dream after all, but real, a signal that it was all too late. Her life, teetering on the edge of ruin anyway, crumbled into dust before her. This was it- she'd really hit rock bottom. She no longer had a home. And it was only a matter of time before her landlord came to bundle her up and throw her out into the cold.

Well, that was it, then. It was all over.

Martina might as well have stuck her head in the oven and ended it all there and then- and yet here she was, walking to work in a trance, turning corners and crossing roads automatically, as if nothing else had happened. She just kept on going, as if putting miles behind her and covering ground would do something to change the situation, but she knew, in a deep, slightly less shocked corner of her brain, that there was no point. Even if she worked today, even if she did get paid when she was supposed to, it wouldn't make any difference. The damage was done. She'd already been evicted. The fact remained that she didn't have a home, and once she'd had a setback like that, she knew, it was nigh on impossible to claw her way back up to normality.

Everything had come crashing down in a heap over her head, and there was no chance of her climbing out of the rubble again.

She was doomed.


	2. Wise Philosopher Boswell

**I know, I am so cruel to Martina all the time. I either give her terrible mental health or a ton of horrid experiences or both, poor sweet. Still, I promise things will look up for her...eventually. Yes, the plot is going a bit slowly but it will pick up pace. I know because I am a few chapters ahead... In the meantime, enjoy some more drama. And quite a fair bit of confusion, as people's minds get...a bit messed up at times. Including mine *smirk* **

**Also, it's about time I started working on this year's Christmas fic. It'll probably be ATEOTD-related, though dealing with characters not focused on in _There's A World Outside Your Window._ So if anyone would like to see me delve more into a particular character or pairing, let me know in the comments and I can put a poll up. **

* * *

><p><strong>2<strong>**  
><strong>**Wise philosopher Boswell**

'I haven't had a breakfast like that in…' Shifty began.

'Days?' said Adrian.

'Hours?' said Billy, and got kicked under the table by Joey and Adrian both.

'Weeelll, however long it was, there's nothin' like a bit of Aunty Nellie's cooking,' Shifty grinned at the aforementioned Auntie Nellie, who pretended not to have heard. She continued to scrub and scratch at the same pan, attacking it with increasing vigour so the black surface was in danger of coming off.

Joey felt it was about time his cousin was off, but there was no telling him. He stretched his limbs out and stood up, hoping that if he left himself, Shifty might take a hint and follow suit- or at least go round and give Grandad a bit of company, this leaving Nellie in peace.

'Well, then,' he said, scraping his breakfast scraps off his plate and placing it in the sink, 'I'd best be goin'- got things to sort out down the DHSS.'

'Oh, if you're goin' that way,' Shifty began, and Joey waited in anticipation of a request for a lift, 'see if Martina's in a better mood, will you? If I go 'ome when she's still stewin', I'll have me squashy bits hangin' from a telephone pole before I can say 'top o' the mornin'.'

'Don't you start using Irish expressions!' Nellie clanged her pan down. 'You're turning into a male Lilo Lil!'

'I _am_ Irish- what am I supposed to do, what? Just deny me roots?'

'Well if Lilo Lil had denied _her_ roots, and put a hold on all her TART impulses, my children would still have had a father! And if…'

Joey would have stayed behind to talk his Mam out of discussing any more what-ifs, but, rows or no rows, he'd made an appointment at the DHSS, and if he could successfully sweet-talk Martina, he could get the family not one but _two_ extra allowances. With his family's monetary welfare in mind, and taking a higher place on his priorities list for the moment than their squabbles, he took his leave then, letting them carry on caterwauling without him.

'Joey Boswell!' came a warning call the instant he set foot on the street.

Recognising the voice, Joey smirked, shook his head and kept walking. It didn't help his case, of course, that he was working towards the source of the shout, but there wasn't much he could do about that. His Jag was in this direction- something he had made quite sure of not long ago, and it seemed he was about to face the music for his act of mischief.

'Joey Boswell,' said Celia again, pulling off her window-washing gloves and putting them aside so as to put her hands on her hips and take a proper forbidding stance.

'Didn't you 'ear a word I said this mornin'? That space there,' she indicated the side of the road directly in front of her house, which was now full of Jaguar, much to his neighbour's obvious annoyance, 'is for _my_ cars! I know you think you own the entire neighbourhood, and you've already managed to monopolise half the street for all your great entourage of vehicles, but these few square inches of space are mine, and I'd like to make use of them.'

She was miffed, he could tell that, but not angry. It was impossible, he thought, for Celia Higgins to remain angry with anyone, really- except perhaps Shifty. Even now there was a bit of a twinkle in her eye. Celia was a gem of a neighbour, he had to give her that- a good friend to his Mam, an excellent housekeeper for Grandad, and well-liked by all the Boswell siblings- and a saint for putting up with the lot of them. If she'd been truly annoyed, Joey might have felt more guilt in continuing with his ribbing.

'Ah- but, you see, my dearest neighbour- you have no need of this parkin' space. You haven't even got a car!'

'That doesn't give you the right to take it! Supposin' I've invited someone over? Where are they gonna park?'

Joey raised an eyebrow. 'Have you?'

'Well, no,' Celia admitted, 'but that's not the point!'

Joey chortled and climbed into his car.

'That's not the point!' Celia reiterated. Joey simply laughed as he drove off, noticing, as he did so, that Celia had put one of the Boswell traffic cones back in front of her house.

* * *

><p>The DHSS wasn't all that crowded, but a fair stream of people seemed to be coming and going from the first two windows. Joey observed the scene for a minute, before breaking with whatever routine had come into place here this morning and heading over to the third, vacant window.<p>

'Next counter,' came a hiss from within.

Joey looked back at the current state of the room and ignored the warning, taking his seat anyway and resting his hands on the desk.

'Greetings! Just a small…er, couple o' things. Surely you can't begrudge a small couple o' things?'

Something hard and sharp rammed onto his fingers.

It took a second, maybe a second-and-a-half for the pain to register, and then Joey's brain leapt into action and he yelped. He pulled his hands out from underneath the little (and bloody dangerous, he knew now) metal sign reading 'CLOSED', shaking them vigorously and blowing on his fingertips to try and rid himself of the sensation.

'_Next-counter_,' Martina repeated through their teeth, a vicious ferocity to her rasp that Joey had never heard before. Even at her darkest moments, when she'd been thoroughly fed up with his jokes and his tricks and his claims, there was an almost undetectable, but still undeniably existent undertone to her words; something which subconsciously reassured him- _I'm angry because you're sending my department under, but I'm not heartless. I'll help if you really do need it._

There was none of that now. Martina's stare was spewing pure hatred across the counter where it lashed him with invisible tendrils, but there was something even deeper in her eyes- agony, almost. Something had happened to her- that much was apparent right away. If she wouldn't even allow him to speak- nay, wouldn't even try to put up with him after his cheeky refusal to leave- would even resort to hitting him with a sign to get rid of him- then something had gone horribly wrong. That wasn't the die-hard, never-give-up Martina he'd come to expect, wickedly noble in her determination to protect the DHSS from cheats at all costs, and nobly wicked in her determination to bring about his downfall.

Her behaviour, coupled with Shifty's reappearance in the Boswell household this morning suggested trouble in paradise- and matters of the heart, Joey knew, could make an unpredictable mess of even the most steadfast of beings. He would have to take extra caution in addressing her.

'What's brought this on, then, eh, sunshine? Separate breakfasts, flingin' _closed_ signs about- havin' a bit of a quarrel, are we?'

Or, of course, he could throw caution to the winds and say possibly the daftest thing that _could_ be said at a time like this. Joey winced at his own insensitivity, cursing his brain for disregarding his own instructions and leaping immediately onto the make-things-worse wagon.

Martina looked thunderstruck. She paled, then coloured, going from white to red in the span of a millisecond, and her eyes, already wide when he'd first defied her and not gone to the next counter, were now bulging a good inch out of her sockets. She opened her mouth, raised her fists, tensed up as if to shout _next!_ automatically, but none of these preparatory actions followed through. Instead, she clammed up again, tensing for a moment and then crumbling before Joey's eyes.

The effect was frightening to behold. In just an instant, Martina who had always appeared so in control of herself, so stern, so mature, had been reduced to a child, trembling and then breaking down in heartrending sobs.

And what frightened Joey even more was that, though he'd always been cool in a crisis, didn't know what to do. If it'd been a member of his own family, he wouldn't have had to think. He would have sprung into action, moved Heaven and earth to calm them. But for a woman whom he could only _really_ claim an acquaintance with from having tried to scam money from her department, who, apart from a few conversations and the knowledge that she lived with his wayward cousin, was little more than a stranger, to be weeping openly in front of him- that was never something he'd had to deal with before.

He didn't have much of a chance to, though. Before he could present even a pathetic offering of a _there_, she'd slammed the _CLOSED_ sign down again- mercifully on the desk and not on his fingers this time- gotten up from her chair and run out the back of the office.

A couple of people had raised their heads and pricked up their ears at the commotion, and Joey could hear them muttering as Martina cried, but now she'd fled the scene the entire Social Security building had sat up and taken notice, even the activity at the other windows ceasing to allow those involved a good gander. Joey, however, didn't join in with the gaggle of gawkers and gossips, who were quite openly speculating about stress and hormones and other potential reasons for the outburst. Before he could think things over, or even blink, he was out of his seat, on his feet and running out of the building. Of course he knew, if he used his _reason_, that he wasn't high up on Martina's friends list (and that was putting it mildly) and he was probably one of the last people on earth she'd want consoling her, but another part of Joey knew that somehow this was Shifty's doing, and the _help with family's problems at all costs_ part of him beat down his reason and pushed him forward.

Joey raced down the metal stairs, bruising his leg against the side in his haste, heading for the back of the building and sprinting toward the staff entrance.

She was sitting doubled-over on the back steps, head bent over her knees, arms wrapped round the lot, positioned as if practising for a plane crash, but rocking back and forth in a way which signposted her unbearable agony. Her sniffles and sobs, though muffled slightly by her arms and legs, were still audible from a few feet away.

Joey felt he should say something, call out to her perhaps, to give her advanced warning that he was coming to her, but he didn't. That'd just give her the opportunity to run away, and he couldn't have that. It may only barely be his business, but he simply couldn't let her get away without knowing something of what was going on. Years and years of Billy broadcasting his woes had turned Joey nosey. He might act, as the others did, like he didn't want to hear every last detail, but the truth of the matter was that he was so used to hearing other people's bad news that now he couldn't do without it- especially when there might be something he could do to help. Not only that, as someone who had, to Martina's face, styled himself Shifty's 'guardian', he thought it his responsibility to help clear up any messes the Irishman had made.

Especially if, as in this case, those messes were starting to mess up other people's lives as well.

He slowed his sprint down to a jog, then to a brisk walk, and sat himself down beside her.

'I didn't think.'

He had to open with an apology, there was nothing for it. He had been stupid in there, _blunt-_ something he never was when he knew a diplomatic approach would greatly benefit the situation.

'Go away.'

'Look, Martina, I never meant to-'

'Get yer bum off this step,' Martina growled, 'take yer leather and gold and yer petty lit'le criminal mind and _get away from me- now._'

Joey did none of the above.

'What's happened?' he switched on his parental tone in hope of tugging a more illuminating response from her.

Martina's head came up from her knees so fast she would have bumped it, had there been anything to bump it_ on_.

'I _will_ hit you, you know!' Her voice was high-pitched and hysterical, and though her face was tracked with tears, the indignant surprise that had registered on it at his wilfulness had put a temporary hold on any fresh flood. Joey couldn't restrain himself from laughing then, however deplorable he must have seemed under the circumstances.

'I've no doubt of that, sweetheart! Go on. Do so if you like.'

The shock on her face grew and bred. She'd clearly never expected him to be so accepting of her threat to strike him- to _encourage _her, what was more. She eyed him, visibly considering the proposition, though the hostility towards him had been chased from her face by his unexpectedly calm behaviour.

Martina picked up her hand rather than raising it, and landed a half-hearted swat on his thigh before her eyes filled with tears again.

And Joey, unable to stop his inbuilt desire to comfort from flowing forth, reached out to catch her as she fell, pained and helpless, into his arms.

* * *

><p>What had she got to lose? Let Joey Boswell win, she thought. Let him see her all vulnerable. Let him hear her cry, let him cuddle her and undoubtedly wind up taking advantage of her in her sorry, defenceless state. Let it all happen. Who cared anymore? Martina's life was already skidding toward being over. She'd already sunk as low as she could go.<p>

She waited, not caring, for Joey's hand to move onto her leg, for the inevitable to begin.

It didn't.

For several minutes, nothing happened at all. Martina went on crying, amazed she still had any fluid left in her body to do so, and Joey's hands stayed where they were, clasped together to keep his arms wrapped around her.

'Tell me,' came his gentle coax. His head nuzzled lightly against her. When she didn't respond immediately, he went on. 'Shifty mentioned summat this morning about you worrying- about becoming bankrupt?'

'Oh, he did, did he?' Martina sat up for a brief spell, a few volts of rage flowing through her, charging her up, but as soon as it came it fizzled away again and she slumped back against Joey again. She no longer had the energy, nor the motivation, to be angry. There was no point.

'Martina,' came Joey's voice again, almost pleading this time. 'If there's somethin' wrong…'

'Not something wrong, Mister Boswell,' she replied. 'It's too late fer that. It's long beyond _wrong_. It's a catastrophe, that's what it is.'

He didn't respond. Perhaps, she thought, she'd stunned him out of saying anything, that he was about to give up and meekly desist, but after he remained where he was for several minutes Martina realised he was simply waiting until she was ready to elaborate.

'I've got no money,' she said, squeezing the first thought that came up out of her head, in the hope that some others would follow close behind. 'I was daft enough ter pay 'is bail, that's what I did- and it cleaned me out. I've been survivin' on…'

'Pot Noodle?'

She was beyond wondering whether he'd been told or had simply made a lucky guess.

'I can't afford food, I can't afford me bills, I'm months behind on the rent- it's not the first time I've 'ad to clean up 'is financial messes, and I've not even got any savings anymore…'

'Well, you're still gettin' wages, aren't you? Can't you-'

'No,' Martina snapped, before he could put any ridiculous suggestions to her about what she could do to save herself. 'It's too late fer that. I've…' she put a hand over her mouth, unable to choke the dreaded statement out. 'I've been…'

'Go on,' Joey urged gently. 'You've been…?'

'I've been evicted,' she finally burst out, before the tears took over her entire self again. Joey patted her back and waited while she sobbed. 'That's it, that's the end, that's yer lot- there's no way I can get back on me feet after this, I might as well…'

Joey's hand clapped over her mouth before she could go on, and if she'd been more in the mood, she would have kicked him and then shouted at him for hours to come about how dare he be so impertinent as to treat her like a child when she…oh, it was no use. She couldn't even finish her thought about how she was _going_ to put him in his place, let alone actually go ahead with it.

'Now, listen- listen, sweetheart,' Joey said, trying to sound in control of the situation, though a hint of disbelieving surprise had penetrated even his ever-ready, ever-witty façade, 'don't start sayin' things like that- don't start goin' on about it bein' over. It's just a setback, okay? Come on, Martina, you're always the one tryin' to encourage…' he hummed over his choice of words, 'er…insist…er, never mind…that people who come to you askin' for money at least try to make summat better of themselves, don't you? That they get a job? That they get themselves onto their own two feet?'

_And how many of them listen to me?_ thought Martina bitterly. _Not a single bloody one._ Why was Joey Boswell trying to be sympathetic, anyway? Her clients were supposed to try and make her feel worse, remind her that their lives were oh-so-sad and therefore hers must be oh-so-perfect and _therefore_ she should be giving them cheques. If only he'd leave her alone. She didn't need to be comforted- it wouldn't do even an ounce of good. There was nothing anyone could do.

'Oh, leave me alone, Mister Boswell,' she growled, shoving against him in an attempt to push him away. He stayed still. 'I don't want ter talk about this, and I especially don't want to talk about this with _you- _my life was already a black and empty chasm because of the treachery of your family, and the last thing I need is you pretendin' ter be Mister Righteous and Mister Reasonable, when you know nothin' of this situation- _nothin'!_ You might plead poverty every second day, but you've got more little lucrative schemes and pockets o' money floatin' around than ten underground criminal rings put together! You'll never know what it's like to be starvin', or homeless, or threatened with the loss of everythin' you've held so desperately to all yer life! You _can never understand_!' With a mighty shove, she freed herself from him, getting to her feet so quickly she was quite sure- and partially glad of it, too- that she'd stepped on his hand with her high heel, and running back up the stairs before he had a chance to react, let alone follow her.

How dare he. How _dare he?_ She was furious now, her own despair forgotten in her anger towards the man who, a few seconds ago, had been 'comforting' her. Who did he think he was? The leather-clad counsellor, who knew everything just because he had a family? Who thought he had a right to pry just because he was somehow distantly related to Shifty? Who thought it might be a bit of fun to try and snoop into people's lives and make pathetic attempts to solve their problems, or rather, just talk at them like a wise philosopher and tell them things would be all right, while he went around secretly rich, and free from any problems ever? Joey Boswell had a cheek. Just thinking about it now reminded Martina why she'd always been so desperate to _get_ him, to wipe out that feeling of godlike superiority he carried around with him and reduce him to the level of a _human being _again. He thought he was untouchable. She'd made it her mission to prove to him otherwise. And at times, she realised, it was the only reason she'd held on. She could have given up on her life years ago, the way it was going- just one dead end after another- she could have gotten herself put on Valium or something stronger to dope and daze her out of the permanent stress she was feeling, but instead she'd focussed on the one thing which gave her motivation- revenge. And she'd clung to that during her bleakest moments, made it her mantra- _I'll get him, I'll get him, I'll get him, I will._

Even now, she was starting to wonder if there was some way she could make _him_ taste the panic, the despair, the agony of her current situation, of the imminent threat of life on the streets and no way to return to normality and sanity.

She slapped herself lightly. _Oh, grow up. Come on, now, love. Who are you tryin' to fool? Even gettin' rid o' Joey Boswell's riches wouldn't save yer this time. You're finished. Done for. Evicted, with no money to pay the back rent. You've got that impending doom hangin' over yer, and you're thinkin' about the Boswells? Honestly?_

She patted her cheek again, trying to gently snap herself out of it without going overboard, but the thoughts wouldn't budge from her head. She had just been given an order to leave her flat within the month, she had nowhere to go and no way of turning the situation around, and yet rather than thinking about what she might do, trying to think of something for herself, she was thinking of how she wished it were Joey Boswell in this situation instead of her, that he was the one being forced to pack his bags.

Martina shook her head, walking back into the DHSS building on shaky legs and retreating to one of the back offices rather than going out to face any more clients for the time being. She'd lose her job if she kept this up- all this storming out and hiding from her duties would get her sacked, or at the very least demoted, and then there would be no way of her ever surviving. She had to be practical about this. The eviction notice said she had thirty days to move out- she had one month to work something out- to get a loan or _something._ She'd have to make finding somewhere cheap to live, and finding some sort of affordable supply of food, her first priority. _Then_ she could start focussing on making Joey Boswell suffer for being such an arrogant bastard.

_Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no._ Martina groaned into her hands. She was _still_ thinking about revenge on Joey, even when she'd just told herself not to. She had a predicament to find a way out of, and her thoughts kept straying to completely unimportant, trivial things.

There was something wrong with her.

If she ever got out of this situation, if she _ever_ got enough money to start saving again, she might need to put some money toward a CT scan.


	3. An admirable machine

**Gah! So, I, being typical me and wanting to stay a few chapters ahead, vowed I would get chapter 6 written by the end of last week. I didn't. Well, I haven't finished it anyway. So I'd better get on it, but in the meantime, here's chapter 3. Introduction of hooliganism in this chapter. You'll know what I mean when you come to it. **

* * *

><p><strong>3<br>An admirable machine**

Joey stared up the stairwell, frozen in his uncertainty. Would it be in his best interests to follow Martina? Would it be in _hers_? She'd been more helpless and hopeless than he'd ever seen her, but before his very eyes the Martina he knew had returned, had risen from the ashes of her shivering, sobbing self and started telling him off for things like his 'lucrative little schemes'. At least her mental health was recovering, Joey thought, but that was a small blessing. If what she'd said was true- and he couldn't imagine the DHSS lady making a play for sympathy- she really was in a terrible situation, and, though it wasn't really Joey's business, he still somewhat felt it was his duty to do what he could. He'd have to talk to Shifty at the very least- his cousin- _her partner_- had to know what she was up against. Joey couldn't picture Shifty being all that helpful, or even being all that sympathetic, but that didn't mean he shouldn't know. It wasn't up to Joey to decide who Shifty and Martina had in their lives, and whether they committed themselves to each other- but as he knew they had, and as he did feel more than slightly responsible for the antics of his Irish cousin, he felt obliged to inform him.

Hopefully- though it was rather a far-fetched hope- Shifty would come to his senses and help Martina out in some way- especially after it was his bail that had cleaned her out in the first place. He'd have a word with him as soon as he got home.

Deciding he should make that his first priority- Martina would be all right so long as she was inside the DHSS building, surrounded by co-workers who'd ensure she didn't do anything drastic- Joey turned away from the staircase and headed towards the backstreet which concealed his car from the prying eyes of the Social Security.

No sooner had he taken two steps than his mobile screamed from his pocket. Joey reached into his jacket and pulled it out.

'Greetings!'

'Joey.'

All at once the problem with Martina and Shifty disappeared, relegated to a stray thought at the back of his mind. The forefront of it was suddenly filled with the voice on the other end of the phone, a voice which danced waspishly through his brain.

'Roxy! How are…what have...I…you…'

'Oh, Joey,' she laughed softly, 'since when have you lost your charmin' verbal skills? Don't tell me you can't even finish a sentence anymore…'

Something in Joey's heart did a little jump and then careened off into the sky. If she was talking to him like this, she couldn't be too angry with him anymore. Their relationship was on the mend.

'So,' he said, feeling his face immediately contort into a smile, and his voice adjust itself to suit his brighter mood, 'how have you been?'

'Apart from bein' annoyed about bein' stranded by meself in Rome, waitin' for you to turn up, you mean? I've been all right, yeah.'

'If you'd have just waited another half an hour, I could've been…'

'No, I couldn't just wait half an hour!' Roxy's tone was abrupt again, the familiar huffiness creeping into it. 'I couldn't just wait around for you forever. If you say you're gonna be there, you should be there, Joey. That's how it is. If you drag me out to another country, the least you could do is come and see me.'

Joey sighed. 'I was comin', but me Grandad had-'

'Oh, your Grandad, this time. And it'll be your Billy next time, then your Aveline, and…'

Joey tuned out. There was no point arguing with her when she was in a mood like this. She didn't understand, and nothing he said could make her.

'…and following that, it'll be your Mam again, because it's always your Mam…Joey, come over.'

The last part of the sentence jolted Joey out of his thoughts, and his attempts to ignore her.

'What, now?' She'd just spent several minutes putting every single one of his relatives down to him, and suddenly she wanted to meet him? She was nothing if not inconsistent.

'Yes, Joey,' Roxy breathed. 'Now.'

Joey paused. Even after all the put-downs, the offer was sugary and enticing, her coaxing voice warm and honey-dripping with the promise of warm caresses and delicious stolen moments. She always had that effect on him- three words, _Joey, come over_, could dissolve his will, and all other desires. She became the only thing in the entire world, her bedsit the only place that existed. He had things to do, but all of a sudden, they could wait. Other people could wait. Forever, if need be, so long as he was with Roxy. Somehow the world stopped when she came into the picture.

'Okay,' he said, knowing even as he did, that he really shouldn't. He had a lot to sort out, and it really couldn't wait. 'I'll head round now.'

'See you soon, Joey,' husked the voice, and then a click from her end of the line indicated they'd disconnected.

* * *

><p>'Is something the matter?'<p>

Joey sat up, pulling the sheet up around him and giving Roxy a quizzical look.

'Matter?'

'Yeah. Matter.' Roxy smoothed down her bob. 'You look like something's botherin' you.'

Joey didn't know where to start. _Oh, it's nothin', Roxy, just the fact that you just spent the last couple of hours puttin' me down and then expectin' me to make love to you like it didn't matter, that you just insulted all me family, that I've got problems I was supposed to be dealin' with but I completely cast them aside in favour of this, and it wasn't even worth it after all I had to put up with from you today…_

He was supposed to be telling Shifty about Martina. He was supposed to be putting things right. He didn't have time to lie around decadently in the middle of the afternoon, as if the world could wait, when he had responsibilities.

Ignoring Roxy's demand for some sort of answer, he reached over her for the phone on the bedside table, and was dialling before he'd thought out what he was doing.

'Joey, put that down!'

He disregarded her. It rang, and he waited.

'Hello, yes?'

'Mam?' Joey's chest unknotted at the sound of her voice. No matter how old he got, she was still his mother, and listening to her for even a few seconds could take him back to that happy, childish state of knowing everything would be all right, for the simple fact that his parent was nearby.

Roxy huffed beside him.

'Oh, Joey! Where have you been? You missed lunch- I was going to ring your mobile, but you didn't pick up! I thought something had-'

'No, no, nothing's happened, Mam, nothing's happened!' Joey reassured her, remembering sheepishly how he'd tossed his phone into the boot and locked it in to prevent anything interfering with his encounter with Roxy. He'd felt bad enough about it at the time, not liberated at all, as he thought he ought to have been. 'I just wondered- is Shifty there?'

A sigh made its way down the receiver and into his ear.

'What's he gotten himself into _this_ time? I knew it, Joey, _I knew it_, he'll be out committing crimes the second our backs are turned, I said, and-'

'No, Mam, no!' Joey said again, an almost hysterical laugh, 'I just, er…' he glanced over at Roxy, who was looking at him with incredulity, or perhaps it was fury. The expressions often turned out rather similar. 'I just…will you let him know I want to talk to him when I get home? I shouldn't be long, just… just tell 'im to wait, okay?'

It probably wouldn't, he reflected, be the best idea to hold an entire conversation about money and Martina and matters of grave importance with Shifty on Roxy's phone, in Roxy's flat, in Roxy's bed. The whole thing (both whole things, actually- both Shifty and Roxy, separately) was enough of a disaster as it was.

'All right- though if he's gotten himself into some sort of trouble with the law he'd be better off _arrested_!' Nellie trilled. 'No prison in the world would be strict enough for _his_ sort- nothing can drum that mischief from his head; the best thing for it would be for him to be _locked away where no-one can suffer from his-_'

'Okay, okay- I'll see you soon.' Joey dropped the receiver down before the rant could continue. Oh, he pitied Shifty now- the man would be sitting minding his own business only for a tidal wave of Nellie-rage to come down on him- and he wouldn't even know what for. Joey had better get home and sort this out rationally before everything descended into chaos.

'I can't believe you, Joey.'

Roxy was thunderstruck- that was the only word for it. He'd seen her angry before, but never like this.

'I just can't believe you! You phoned your Mam while in bed with me- that's a new _low_, Joey!'

'It wasn't like _that, _it was…' Joey didn't bother to try and defend himself. It'd be futile. Roxy had a knack for portraying his devotion to the ones he loved in the most debauched way possible, and nothing he said was going to appease her right now. Painful as it was to have to leave her angry with him, he had to just get ready, get home and get on with it. He could make it up to her later.

He hoped.

'I'm gonna have to go.'

Roxy's jaw dropped, and then she snorted, snatching up his shirt and throwing it at him as hard as she could.

Joey shut his eyes and sighed, trying to chase his frustration away with a deep breath.

'I'll see you later, okay?'

'Don't count on it, Joey.'

He gave up trying to pacify her, making it his only goal to get out of there as soon as possible.

* * *

><p>Joey noticed, on his drive home, that a few things weren't quite right.<p>

First of all, his phone was still locked in the boot, and it was now ringing ferociously, with no way of shutting it up.

Secondly, his shirt buttons were all done up wrong. His Mam was bound to start interrogating him- and if she didn't, it wasn't unlikely he'd get a few raised eyebrows and comments from Shifty when he finally cornered him.

But it was the third thing he noticed that got most of his attention, that not only invaded every facet of his brain but somehow managed to cheer him up out of his dudgeon about Roxy and his anxiety about Shifty and Martina's situation, managed to, in fact, squeeze a laugh out of him.

As he turned down the street, cruising in the direction of his favourite forbidden parking spot, he noticed that the space outside Number Thirty-Two was no longer vacant.

A very shiny, very expensive-looking navy blue car was parked outside Celia's house.

Either his neighbour had brought someone round, or she'd finally cashed in all the royalties from her book and bought herself a set of wheels.

Whichever it was, she'd gone to an awful lot of trouble just to stop him parking his Jag in her spot, and Joey couldn't help but sit back in his seat and laugh until the muscles in his sides screamed at him to stop.

_Nice try, sunshine_, he thought, even the words in his mind coming out as a guffaw, _but I'll be back in that space soon, don't you fret._

* * *

><p>A bit of cold water in her face and several phone calls later, Martina was sitting with her head in her hands once more. She'd tried to pull herself back together and get back on her feet, sifting through the more sensible things to do one by one. Call to her landlord to ascertain what was really going on with the whole situation. Yes, she was really being evicted. Apparently, on top of missing her last payment, she hadn't just been <em>behind<em> on the last few months' rent- she apparently hadn't paid those either. Martina had checked and checked- she was sure she'd sent those payments out- and then it had dawned on her. She had, during one of those moments of madness she realised she was having all the time now, given the money to Shifty to post.

_Oh, why?_ How could she have done something so…well, she knew exactly how. Never, ever, plan to do important tasks when you were late for work. She'd learned that lesson now- learned it the hardest of all possible hard ways. Of _course_ he'd pocketed it, or spent it instantly. Why did she ever think, even for a minute, that he would have done otherwise? Love really was blind, and she'd been walking through her life with dark glasses and a walking stick for far too long. That bastard was never coming near her again- near her flat, near her work (or at least near her counter; she couldn't actually stop him claiming Social Security), nowhere. If she spotted him within a five hundred mile radius all hell would break loose- she would make certain of that.

Call to a reasonably-priced solicitor to see what rights she had. Surely she should be given more time than this? Apparently not. That, or the cretin she chose to phone up was more interested in the fee she was going to pay him for wasting his valuable time, and had become unwilling to help her when he realised she was already beyond flat broke.

Call to the police, who told her it was nothing to do with them.

Call to the bank to enquire after a loan. They'd need proof of a good credit history, they said. Judging by the fact that Martina had just failed to pay her rent and been thrown out her home, she doubted that was going to happen.

Call, in desperation, to her mother, to borrow money. No joy there, either. Her Mam didn't look at all kindly on people who get themselves into debt, and had ever-so-lovingly pointed out that if Martina couldn't afford to pay off her own expenses, it wasn't likely she'd ever be able to pay her back, either.

She'd hung up on all of them, feeling her stomach turn to concrete.

How on earth was this ever going to work out?

* * *

><p>'Is Shifty here?'<p>

Grandad looked up from his paper as though Joey's presence had personally offended him.

'How do I bloody know? What do you think I am? A bloody watch dog?'

'Well,' Joey smiled, clasping his hands together, 'have you noticed him around the house today?'

'You don't think I've got better things to do with me time than sit around followin' 'im with me eyes?' Grandad tapped his spectacles. 'No, I 'aven't noticed 'im. 'e won't be 'ere. 'e's never 'ere, anyway. He goes off with women and leaves me ter die alone. Only comes back when he's bored, 'e does. As if I just disappeared when he didn't need me, then came magically back when 'e did…'

'Aw, hey, don't be like that, son!' Joey knelt beside him, touching the old man's arm. He was shaken off almost immediately. 'Shifty does love you, Grandad- he does wanna be with you, it's just…'

'Aye, I know. It's just he cares more about gaddin' around than he does about people! Expects 'em all to just sit around, waitn' for 'im.'

Joey shook his head, though what his aged grandfather had just said had a distinct ring of truth to it.

'Well, give us a yell when you spot him, won't you? Let us know.'

'Not bloody likely,' said Grandad, and went back to his paper.

Joey stepped back onto the street, feeling just slightly more downhearted. His cousin wasn't at home, wasn't at Grandad's…if he'd just done a bunk at a time like this, Joey would make damn sure he regretted it when he got his hands on him.

He started back towards Number Thirty, when something caught his eye.

Leaning against Celia's flashy new car was a familiar scruff, his hands eagerly roaming the paintwork and fiddling their way towards the doorhandle.

'Eh!' Joey called, sprinting towards him. 'Shifty!'

'Joey!' Shifty jumped, staggering against the car and shoving his hands behind his back in a pathetic attempt to seem innocent. 'I was just…admirin' this machine! Great piece of work, isn't it?'

'Yeah,' Joey said, eyeing him in a way he hoped conveyed his suspicion. 'Great.'

'It's a Mercedes, you know.'

'Fan_tas_tic! It's also _Celia's_. Or…her friend's, or somethin'.'

'I know, I know.' Shifty went back to stroking the hood of the car.

'As in, not yours.'

His cousin looked up, scandalised. 'What do you take me for, Joey? Some sort o' reckless car thief?'

'You and I both know there's no point in me answerin' that.'

Shifty folded his arms. Joey switched his 'stern' voice on and let him have it.

'And instead of thinkin' of things that are gonna get you into even more trouble, I think you'd best go home to Martina and talk to her.'

'Ohhh!' Shifty wailed, throwing his hands in the air. 'What's she been sayin' _now_? I've always done somethin' to upset her, even when I _haven't _ done anythin'…'

'Shifty, listen to me.' Joey took a step closer, so his face was almost in his cousin's. 'This is serious, okay? Martina-' he said each word slowly, so there'd be no mistake, 'has-gone-bankrupt.'

He paused to let this settle in. Shifty made a strange coughing noise.

'Oh, come on, Joey- you're gonna let her manipulate you with all that bankrupt rubbish? She complains about that all the _time_, and…'

'No, Shifty, she really is. Do you understand that? She has fallen behind on her rent; they're threatenin' to evict her- you _need _ to help her sort this out.'

'Me? Oh, come on, co-' Shifty scoffed, then snorted out a laugh, then stopped, the realisation marching across his face that perhaps Joey really, truly did mean it after all. 'What can I do about it? I haven't got the means to pay 'er rent- that giro I get barely covers _me_…'

'Shifty, _you _ got her into this! She lost her money payin' _your_ bail! You need to be the one to get her ou-' this might not actually be feasible, Joey reflected, and changed the direction of his speech, 'you need to at least be there for her in some way.'

Shifty was angry now. 'Oh, and if I 'got her into this, what makes you think she'd want to be around me then, what?'

'Shifty, I don't know, but you have to do _something_! It's your responsibility; you're her partner, you need to stand by her- she's got no money, nowhere to live, she…'

This time, Joey's pause wasn't from frustration, nor for dramatic purposes, but from a rather unexpected thought that had just popped into his head. It was probably the worst idea to ever have formed, one that should be strangled at birth, but then again, what other option was there? It was practical, it was _possible_, it wouldn't cost anything…

'Shifty, _go and talk to Martina_,' he repeated, waggling a finger at his cousin, 'and after you've spoken to her, ring my mobile, okay? I've got an idea.' He turned around, powerwalking back in the direction of Grandad's.

'And don't touch that car!' he shouted over his shoulder.

Shifty's groan rang out through the whole street.

Joey burst back through Grandad's door just in time to startle the old man with a freshly-brewed cup of tea in his hand.

'Oohhh, look what you've done, you great clumsy berk! Rushin' about frightenin' people- gone all over me chair, this 'as! Lucky I didn't scald meself! Third degree burns, you nearly gave me!'

'Sorry, Grandad, son- I'll help clean this up!'

'No need!' A head of peroxide-blonde hair and a Greenpeace t-shirt appeared in the kitchen doorway, and Celia pranced into the room, already armed with a pair of rubber gloves and a J-cloth. 'I'll get that for you, Grandad! After all, that's what I'm for!' There was an unpleasant hint of smugness hovering about Celia's tone. She bent down to clean up the mess, cocking her head sideways and upwards so her eyes hit Joey's.

'Need this job now, don't I? Now I have a lovely _new car_ to pay off.'

Joey wondered briefly how he could respond without letting her think she'd gotten to him. She hadn't, of course, not at all, it was just…it was just he hadn't quite had time to calculate his next move yet. He'd get there, though. She'd see, soon enough.

'Ah, yes,' he said cheerfully, ' that quite formidable purchase I saw parked in my space.'

Celia's face reddened. Joey chalked up another victory point in his mind. Of course, the fact that the space was now occupied gave Celia a good ten or so over him, but he could still savour in the small victory over having annoyed her.

'Oi! You two! No chit-chat! She's paid to work! And you're…well, you're a bloody nuisance!' Grandad had become fed up with not having the attention of the room.

Joey turned to the old man at once, kneeling beside his chair and clearing his throat.

'Grandad, I came to ask you somethin'.'

'No. No you can't.'

Joey blinked. 'Can't what?'

'You're 'ere to hear more about Edie Mathieson, aren't yer? Well, I'm worn out tellin' stories o' my personal life ter you! Five times you've asked for them this week! And all because you think it's love with that _one_- I'm not a bleedin' radio announcer, you know! I'm not some jukebox you can put a penny in and it'll play yer back whatever you feel like…'

'No, no, Grandad! I wanted to ask you somethin' more important.' Joey took a deep breath, arching his back and pushing his shoulders back.

'Well, go on, then! I 'aven't got all day!'

'How would you feel, Grandad, about some lodgers?'

* * *

><p><strong>Yay, (kind of) cliffhanger!<strong> **I actually really love writing Celia in this fic too. I think she's quite cheeky when she wants to be, what with her little wicked smile when she thinks about revenge on Shifty, and I wanted to play with that a little. She's going to feature quite a bit in this one. I also might get around to writing her a fic of her very own someday.  
>Also, don't forget to tell me who you'd like to see in this year's Christmas fic! I'll put up a poll next week. <strong>


	4. A non-hanky-panky house

**Yeah, I'm a bit late with this update but life got in the way a little. This one was quite fun to write, in places, and hopefully it'll push the story forward a little. Enjoy.**

* * *

><p><strong>4<br>A non-hanky panky house**

'No.'

'Oh, come on, Grandad!'

'No!' Grandad folded his arms and turned away from Joey, the awkward manoeuvre taking longer than he would have liked, and thus not quite having a proper huffy effect. His intent was clear enough, though. Joey had laid his proposition out in full, and the old man was disgusted by it.

'Not in _my_ 'ouse!'

'They've got nowhere to go! Just think about it. It's Shifty- you _like_ Shifty!'

'I like Shifty on 'is _own_.'

'Oh, Grandad, look, Martina's a nice girl; she wouldn't be any trouble…' Joey wasn't actually sure of this, but he was trying to make a case here, 'and it wouldn't be for long! Just until they got together enough money to get a place of their own.'

'You want me to take an 'anky-pankyin' couple into me 'ome, to _live_? I'm not 'avin' 'anky-panky in my 'ouse! This is a non- 'anky-panky 'ouse and that's the way it always will be.'

'Oh, so Edie Mathieson never came here, then?' Joey winked facetiously.

'Ooohhhh,' Grandad groaned. 'If you were mine, I'd tek a belt to yer, with that cheek! If I've retired from 'anky-panky, then this 'ouse 'as retired from 'anky-panky!'

'There's more to life than just that, you know! What about…compassion? Charity?'

'Charity?' Grandad repeated, appalled. '_Charity?_ I don't get any bloody charity, and now you want me to dish it out to other people! Once them lot next door start showin' me some charity with those pathetic dinners they give me, then I might be inclined to give a bit out meself.'

Joey rolled his eyes. 'If we arranged for you to have an extra pudding, how would _that_ suit?'

Grandad pushed his lips into what could only be described as a pout. It looked downright ridiculous on a man his age, and, had the situation been a bit more light-hearted, Joey might have simply burst out laughing and allowed Grandad to win the argument. This was important, though, and he wasn't going to give up so easily. It might have been the daftest idea on the planet, trying to convince Grandad to let Shifty and Martina move in with him until they got on their feet, but it was all he could come up with. They had nowhere to go, after all, and no money to pay rent with, and Shifty _was_ family, after all. That, he supposed, made Martina family by extension.

And Joey did for family. That was one thing he always made sure of.

'Well, how about _this?_ I will take you…' he could feel himself regretting this already, 'out to the races, or the cinema, or for a drive through the city- anythin' you like- every day for a month as payment, and if it really bothers you, they could have separate bedrooms- you've got the room up there…'

'I need both them spare rooms.'

Joey tutted. 'What for?'

'Just for _things_, never you mind! 'Twas bad enough Shifty tekkin' one of 'em.'

'Wherever you like for a month…' Joey coaxed, dangling the carrot once more.

'I could walk there under me own steam. Then I wouldn't 'ave to sit in that daft pretend-posh car of yours.'

'Grandad…'

'No, and that's the end of it! No 'anky panky in my 'ouse! No couples in my 'ouse! No strange women in my 'ouse- it's bad enough _'er_ always comin' in 'ere!' He thrust a finger in Celia's direction.

Joey moved to put a hand to his forehead, but stopped halfway.

'_Celia_…' he began.

'No!' Either he was terribly obvious, or Celia was brilliant at guessing hints. Joey preferred to believe the latter. He had always fancied himself a master of subtlety.

Joey's mouth dropped open as he began to formulate a protest.

'I know where you're goin', and I'm not havin' my ex and his new bit of totty under my roof!'

'Well,' Joey shrugged guiltily, 'there's no harm in tryin', is there?'

'First your car in my space, then your guests in my house- I realise you want to monopolise the entire postcode, but I won't be a part of it!'

'All right, all right,' Joey stood, waving his hands. 'It was only a suggestion. I'll, er…leave you both to it, then.'

He left the house in lower spirits than he had entered it.

* * *

><p>It was an odd thing, the way people coped with sudden disaster. There were phases of shock and fear and rage and sadness all pounding against each other and turning up at different times. Martina didn't know what this phase was called, if indeed it had a name. She seemed to have entered a state of numbness, walking around her flat in a daze, thinking, with her brain feeling not quite there, that none of it was hers anymore.<p>

_This was my kitchen…this was my bedroom…these rooms used to be mine, and now they're gone, all gone…_

She sat down on her sofa, staring forlornly around the living room. It was as though, in some strange way, it had all dissolved in front of her eyes, despite still physically being there. She was here, but this flat was no longer hers, no longer her home. She was nowhere, in a way.

Martina wasn't sure she could have explained it- if she'd even thought of explaining it. She didn't know what her mind was doing, nor did she care. She'd tried to sort this out and failed, and now her future was a big, menacing blank. She had no idea how this worked- whether they'd come in and drag her out, whether the police would somehow be involved, whether they'd just bash on the door and demand she come out, how much of the furniture she'd be allowed to keep, most of it having been here when she moved in, where she was going to put any furniture she _did_ get possession of, seeing as she had nowhere to put it _in_…

Wonders and worries swirled around her head, seeming dreamlike and half-real to her, and at the same time crushing and devastating her beyond belief. It was surreal, the way she could be with-it and completely out of it at the same time, and yet she was, and she didn't have the first idea how to respond to anything. Time was ticking on, but she didn't know how much of it was slipping by, only that every second that passed was another second closer to the end of the thirty days, to the end of her time in this flat.

To the end of her life as she knew it. She'd be thrown into a life of uncertainty before she could blink, and Martina had never been good with uncertainty. Her job, unpleasant as it was, was stable and predictable at least. She could always count on each workday to be mundane and repetitive, and filled with the same crappy lies and pathetic excuses. Her home life had always been much the same- empty and lonely, but secured by a routine- until now. Stability had been thrown out the window the day Shifty moved in with her, and by the time he was done with it, he'd not only thrown it out the window but thrown a load of bricks on top of it until it was completely crushed. Nothing could be relied on anymore. He'd taken that away from her.

The front door slammed open.

'Hello in there!'

All of a sudden, the hazy, there-but-not-there feelings disappeared, replaced instead with one overpowering emotion- anger. Shifty was back here, after all that had happened, after he'd so casually walked out this morning and left her to discover the bad news on her own, after he'd spent the last few months systematically destroying what she had in her life…

'Martina, I've been thinking…'

'Oh, is that what you call disappearin' all bloody day?' she snapped, starting as she meant to go on. Shifty would receive no kindness from her, and he'd bloody well better not expect any. 'Runnin' off ter the Boswells the second the goin' gets rough- I told yer this mornin', they can 'ave yer! Go on, clear off back to them! Let them suffer for a while!'

'Martina, listen to me!' Shifty sat down beside her, and she shuffled to the other side of the sofa. 'I know about you gettin' evicted. I know.'

She should have seen this coming- of course it would have gotten through the Boswell radio station at some point. Martina found she wasn't surprised, and even if she had been, she'd be too drained to do much about the sensation.

'Oh.'

Shifty slapped his hands against his knees.

'Well, there you are, then.'

Martina blinked. 'What?'

'There you are, then!' Shifty repeated. 'I know. You can stop worryin' about it.'

'Stop…worryin' ab…stop…s…' Martina wringed her hands together, then through her hair, unable to believe what she was hearing. 'Stop worryin' about it…I can't…'

'You see…'

'NO!' The strength of her own response scared her, and she'd delivered some strong responses in her time 'I don't 'see'- I don't see how what you just said means anythin', Shifty! Oh, you know, so that makes it all right, does it? That magically solves me problem, does it?'

'You don't need to be afraid of feelin' you have to take care of me with fancy food- now I know, I _understand_ about the Pot Noodle-'

'You honestly think _that_'s what this is about?' Martina could feel her face reddening. 'Shifty, I am facin' an uncertain future- probably _no_ future- I've got no money, no hope, no _home_- and it's _all thanks to you_.'

'Me? What did I-'

'If you didn't hang around 'ere spongin' off me, if you didn't go off an' get yerself arrested and force me to spend all me money on gettin' you out o' trouble…'

'Oh, so I'm a burden on you, is that right, a burden?'

'Well, if you put it that way...' Martina snarled, '_yes!_'

'Well then,' Shifty got up again, 'I was coming here to give you support, but if you've branded me as the villain of the piece already, there's no point in me sticking around to _burden_you again, is there?'

'Oh, _go away!_' Martina rubbed her forehead. She just wasn't in the mood for this. There were some days when she might have been tempted to reassure him that he wasn't a burden to her, that they could face things together, but today was not one of them. Martina didn't want to face things with Shifty by her side- it was having him there that got her into this mess in the first place. Maybe she still cared about him, maybe she didn't, she just _didn't know_, and she just _didn't care_, all she wanted right now was to be left in peace, without a constant reminder of why her whole life was now in pieces.

Shifty took a step towards the door and stopped, as if considering turning back around and saying something else.

'Get _out_!' she hissed, before he had the chance.

He took another step, paused again. This was too much for Martina.

'I wish I had never met you, Shifty Boswell! I wish you 'ad never come skulkin' into me life, bringin' all yer filthy little tricks and yer diabolical ways and spreadin' the consequences of your _diseased_ mind all throughout me home and me sanity and everythin' I held dear- I was all right until you came along!'

'You told me on the day we met you thought your life was hell!'

'Me work life was hell, yes. Thankfully me 'ome life still provided _some_ respite- up til you pranced into it and messed everythin' up!'

'I came back to offer you support, and what do I get? The sharp edge of your tongue, that's what! Well, I'm off, then. You can sit here and be angry by yourself, you can- I don't have to take this!'

'No, because that would mean acceptin' some sort o' responsibility for yer actions, wouldn't it?'

Shifty hesitated again, on the verge of retaliating, and then shook his head perhaps more violently than a head should be shaken, made a growling, groaning noise in his throat and skulked out of her flat, slamming the door, then, because she made no effort to respond to this, opening it and slamming it again.

Martina fell back against the sofa, hitting her head repeatedly against the cushions and groaned. The vile little bastard. She was going to have to make good on her earlier vow to keep him at least five hundred feet away from her at all times, because he just didn't help. His presence could never cheer her up- it just reminded her again and again what he had taken from her. The very thought that he had come in here, thinking he could make everything better just by standing there offering obnoxious platitudes like 'I understand'- it made her want to tear her hair out. Could 'I understand' magically pay her bills? Get her her flat back? Put the money she'd lost back on the table? Unless Shifty had some sort of magic gob (and not the Joey Boswell kind) which could make things appear, there was nothing he would be able to do to help her- or to get him out of her bad books. He was in there for good, as far as she was concerned.

She could have gotten up, done something- locked the door, even, but Martina was too tired, too miserable even for that. She tucked her feet up under her on the sofa and shut her eyes, just…_wallowing_.

* * *

><p>'<em>So!<em>' Nellie slammed the crockpot of vegetables down on the kitchen table, all but sending laser beams of rage from her eyes at Shifty, who had seated himself once again with the rest of the family. 'I see _you_ are back here again!'

'Hear me out, Auntie Nellie…'

'Joey told me you'd gotten yourself into some _scrape_! Well there will be no policemen under this roof, do you hear me? If you're going to go around getting in trouble with the law you can go straight back out that front door and spare my family the humiliation of-'

'Mam, no,' Joey felt he had been silent long enough. 'What I said on the phone earlier…Shifty's not in trouble with the law, okay?'

Shifty smiled a smug smile.

'_As far as I know_.'

The smug smile was not so smug now.

'You've all cast me as the villain of the piece, haven't ye? You won't let up, will yer- won't let up! Always making assumptions about me, the lot of you!'

Joey sighed. 'Perhaps, Shifty, people might have reason to make such assumptions in the first place, mightn't they?' The Irishman looked about ready to launch into his usual spiel of complaints and excuses, but Joey raised a hand to silence him before he got the chance. Shifty pushed his lips together in a rather unattractive pout, then curled his usual simpering smile onto his face.

'I didn't get a chance to phone ye, Joey, he said, in a voice that could have been cheerful, had there not been a strange undertone to it.

Disappointment flooded into the eldest Boswell's face as he remembered why he'd asked his cousin to phone. He'd thought- far too optimistically, why did he ever think he could actually have been successful in that endeavour?- he could've had a place to stay for Shifty and Martina all arranged by the next time he saw his cousin.

_Oh, Grandad, did you have to be so stubborn_?

'Doesn't matter, does it, eh? You're here now.'

'What was it you wanted to say?'

Joey hesitated. He dearly longed to ask if Shifty had sorted things out with Martina- if he'd even done anything to ease her distress just a little- having a sinking feeling that he wouldn't have, and a better solution would still have to be found, but unsure whether now, in front of the entire family, would be the best time to discuss such matters.

'Have you…' he began cautiously, lacing heavy meaning into every word he spoke, '_done that thing _yet?'

Billy's head shot up from his plate. 'What thing?'

'Whatever it is, if it concerns Shifty it'd be better not to know _what thing_,' Nellie growled, attacking her slices of beef with more energy than the task required.

'Oh, there is no point in doin' _any_ thing,' Shifty sing-songed, picking up a dish of pumpkin and emptying the entirety of the contents onto his plate. 'Any _thing_ I do is thrown back in me face. I am a condemned man, ostracised, forbidden from performin' any redeeming acts to vindicate meself from the slough of despond that is my entire life…'

'Your entire _soul_ is a slough of despond!' Nellie snapped. 'If someone opened you up, your core would be as black as tar!'

'Mam,' Joey said calmly. Nellie shot a hateful look at Shifty and returned to her dinner.

'I take it, then, that your answer to that question was _no_, you haven't, do I, Shifty?'

'Is this to do with bankruptin' the DHSS lady?' Billy pushed once again into the conversation.

'Billy!'

'Well, you were talkin' about it this mornin', weren't you?' Billy responded to his eldest brother's shout of warning. Still keeping his head up in fear of missing some vital detail of the exchange he could spread around in his usual fashion, he reached around until his fork stabbed a lump of something, and raised it to his mouth.

'Oi! Do you mind?!' Adrian suddenly came to life, his paranoia and horror steaming ahead full force. 'Oh, God, he's stealing food from my plate now! Why must I be the one to sit next to him- my last ounce of dignity is 'angin' by a thread!'

Billy picked the potato off the fork with his fingers and put it back on Adrian's plate.

'_Did-you-see-tha-'_

_'_That's-ENOUGH,' Joey said sternly. 'We don't need to have this every single mealtime, do we? Billy- mind your own business and take care what you're doin'. And Adrian, just get yourself another potato. There's a whole dish of 'em still there- it's not the end of the world, all right?'

Adrian stopped his complaining, but made sure to make a show out of pushing the Billy-potato as far away as possible from the contents of his plate, and then, on second thoughts, pushing away every item which might have touched it.

Billy, however, was not one to quieten down so easily.

'But you said, this mornin'- and now with all this talk about doin' things- well, I do live in this house, and eat at this table, don't I? So if somethin' goes on, I should know, shouldn't I?'

'It doesn't quite work like that, son,' Joey began to reprimand, but Shifty waved a hand and turned the attention back onto himself.

'I might as well clear it up- I'll be hearin' enough accusations about it anyway, won't I? Martina has been evicted from her flat, you see, and she _claims_ this was somehow my fault!'

'I'm not surprised it's your fault!' Nellie piped up once more. 'You waltz into people's lives and turn them to muck!'

'It wasn't my fault, though, it wasn't! I mean, how am I supposed to know the daft bat spent the last of her rent money on me bail- I didn't ask her to, did I? And how was I supposed to know that the money in that envelope she gave me to deliver was for rent, as far as I could see, it was just…' Shifty trailed off, having exposed a flaw in his own story. 'Well it's not me own fault her landlord's not an understanding man, now, is it?'

'Oh, Shifty,' Joey groaned. 'At least tell me you've done _somethin'_ to help this situation?'

'I tried, didn't I? I told her I understood…'

'Shifty, understandin' isn't gonna do anythin'!'

'Well, what else was I meant to do?'

'An _apology_ would have been a good start.'

'What've I got to be sorry for? And anyway, what's it got to do with you, anyhow? The world doesn't all revolve around- we don't all have to answer to- the mighty Joey! What can you do, wave your Godfather wand and build us a new house?'

Joey detected a hint of Martina's influence on Shifty's choice of words, but he was beyond being amused by this.

'Well, as a matter of fact, Shifty, I was tryin' to do the both of you a favour! I'd been tryin' to talk Grandad round to lettin' you two stay with 'im until you sorted summat out financially, but if you're gonna behave like this, it's prob'ly just as well he wasn't cooperative!'

Silence fell over the table as every person in the Boswell household digested this. Every face could be seen to contort and furrow, as they all contemplated what Joey had just said in their own way.

'Live in Grandad's house?' Nellie began quietly, disbelief and horror dripping from every syllable. 'Go back to live-again-in Grandad's house? With a _woman_?'

'You'd have thought Grandad would've been glad of the company,' Adrian mused. 'He was ever so upset when Shifty moved out in the first place- I had to spend a whole fortnight with him before he stopped complainin' about missing him and started complainin about me 'angin' around instead.'

'Yeah, but 'oo'd want Martina there? She's be bossin' Grandad and Shifty around, tellin' em to get in a queue just to get their dinner!'

'Bill-_y_! If you can't say summat useful, keep your gob shut, okay, sunshine?'

Shifty stood abruptly, his chair squealing and his plate clattering, sending a torrent of peas across the table.

'So that's it, then!' He flung his fork dramatically onto the table, where it joined the wayward peas. 'I've been condemned by me girlfriend, condemned by me own family, even Grandad won't show any pity on me- Grandad, who I kept company and nursed through some of his lonely days…'

'And left your underpants all over his house…' Nellie growled.

Shifty took no notice, but carried on with his speech, seemingly anxious to make it as long and memorable as Joey's. 'I am the misunderstood man, so I am. Forever wanderin' the earth hopin' someone will be able to free my tortured mind from the burdens of me past, but forever runnin' into people who would rather blame me for their troubles…'

'If you just _behaved_,' Joey said, frustrated beyond belief, 'if you stopped _causin'_ trouble, they wouldn't blame you, would they?'

'Well never you mind about me,' Shifty said, completely ignoring his cousin, ' I will do what I always do- up and disappear, abscond and take me cares and me bad luck with me, so I will. You'll find me in the gutter somewhere, one day, dyin' of a broken heart and a broken head…' he had walked across the kitchen whilst spouting this nonsensical gibberish, and now stood in the doorway to the parlour, leaning on the frame as dramatically as he could manage. 'I will, you know. I'll sink into me own ruin…'

Nobody bothered to respond. Shifty kept going and then stopped again, trying the same trick on that he had with Martina, and getting a similar lack of result.

'Well you'll all rue the day you hurt the lost sheep of the family with your cruel words, so you will!'

Again, no-one said anything. Joey rolled his eyes at Shifty's downright terrible attempt to sound poetic, which had instead come out as though the Irishman had just strung a lot of expressions together and didn't know what he was talking about. Billy helped himself to some more potatoes. Nellie crossed herself and pretended to be interested in her own food. And Adrian sat there being even less noticed than Shifty.

'You will!' Shifty repeated, but to no avail. He turned his back on the lot of them and walked out the front door, making sure to give it a few extra slams just to properly get across his annoyance.

The Boswell family sat quietly, half-heartedly making attempts at their dinner and unsure what any of them should say.

'Should I-' Adrian turned his head in the direction of the door.

'No, son, just leave 'im',' Joey said. 'He's just gone off sulkin'. Eat your dinner. He'll be back as soon as he realises no-one's buyin' into it.'

Adrian nodded his assent, and went back to trying to ascertain which of the remaining potatoes were safe to eat, and which had been tarnished by Billy's fingers.

* * *

><p>'No! Freddie Boswell! You walk right back out that door this instant! How <em>dare<em> you come in here, after spending a weekend romping round the Welsh mountains with _her_!'

'Oh, so a man's not entitled to a little break, a couple of days of peace, is he?'

'You can go where you like, you can have whatever peace you like, it's who you have these things _with_ that's the problem.'

'Mam! Dad!' Joey called out towards the vestibule. 'Why don't you both just come and sit down, okay?'

'First Shifty coming back here and causing trouble, and now _him_,' Nellie grumbled, stomping back to her seat, a spatula clutched between her hands like a weapon. 'This house must be cursed.'

Freddie's entrance, half a second later, was far more cheerful. 'Ah! It's good to be back with the ones I love!' He took the seat vacated by Shifty half an hour ago, beaming from ear to ear. 'And what have we here? A golden pudding, that is! A golden pudding!'

'There is no pudding for _you_!' Nellie snapped, pulling the tray of bread and butter pudding from the centre of the table until it was closer to her than it was to Freddie. 'You were not invited to dinner! You choose to go gallivanting off with Irish _tarts_ up a Welsh mountain, you choose to forfeit your dinner with your family!' Nellie scooped up a portion of pudding and slammed it into a bowl, passing it across the Billy and disregarding Freddie's cheekily hopeful beam and his outstretched hands.

'Ah, you're still full of the fire I love, Nellie Boswell,' he said. 'Still full o' the old electricity, eh? Nothing better to come home to than a fiery, electric woman, is there? All bright and burnin' like a red…'

'That's _enough_!' Nellie barked, depositing another serve of pudding in front of Adrian and pausing to glare at her husband.

'Oh, and, er, speakin' of fiery women,' Freddie went on blithely, and Joey held his breath, pleading with the universe that his dad would not make any mention of Lilo Lil's 'fire' or 'electricity' for fear of making the situation, 'what's the matter with that blonde bombshell next door?'

'Don't you _dare_ call my friend and neighbour a bombshell!' Nellie exploded. 'She is a decent, respectable woman, not a TART!'

'I don't think he meant it like that,' Joey tried to calm her, a little part of him reluctantly agreeing that he couldn't have ever seen himself describing Celia Higgins as a bombshell. She was a little too uptight for him, and a little too old, and as for her stubbornness where _his_ parking space was concerned…

'She was pacin' up and down outside,' Freddie supplied. 'Looked in a right mess about summat.' He leaned in, a mischievous smile spreading across his ruddy face. 'You don't suppose she's in _trouble_, do you?'

'Your mind never ceases to come up with _filth_, does it, Freddie Boswell!' In her latest rage, Nellie forgot she was supposed to be denying Freddie any of her cooking and slammed a bowl of pudding down in front of him. 'You turn every conversation into a pornographic description of your… _lusts_!'

'Oh, thanks my darlin'!' He snatched up a spoon and commenced tucking into the pudding before Nellie could take back again.

Joey would have stepped in and said something, but his mind was stuck on Freddie's last –serious- comment about Celia.

'Did she say anythin', Dad? Celia? About why she was upset?'

'Don't know, son,' Freddie said, getting crumbs all over his moustache as he talked and ate at the same time. 'Don't know. Didn't stop by for long enough to ask her. That's why I thought you lot might know summat about it.'

Joey tried to think what might have sent their neighbour into such a state. If it had been him and his Jag, and his attempts to monopolise and invade her parking space, he might have found the scenario highly amusing, but seeing as he _hadn't_, seeing as she now had her own car in that spot and he couldn't do that…oh, no. An apprehension popped into the eldest Boswell's head. It couldn't be. That couldn't _possibly_ have happened, could it? It was just all his thoughts about cars and parking spaces making him jump to conclusions like that, surely…

He was on his feet before he knew what he was doing.

'Er- excuse me,' he said. 'One moment- just checkin' somethin'.' And he rushed from the table, through the parlour, the vestibule, the front door, onto the street…

It was just what Joey had feared. Celia was standing there, coatless despite the chill in the air, raking her hands through her hair in what could only be an action of shock or despair. And, just as he had suspected, Celia's latest accoutrement, which she had been boasting and teasing him about just a few hours earlier, had vanished into thin air. Celia's car was gone.

And Joey had a sinking feeling he knew exactly who had taken it.


	5. Executor of the Estate

**Again, the chapter is a bit late, 'cause I uploaded it and was going to post on Sunday and then some life things got in the way, but it's here now. I'm now only 2 chapters ahead so I shall attempt to partake in some intense writing sessions to get myself ahead again. In the meantime, hope you like this one. **

* * *

><p><strong>5<strong>

**Executor of the estate**

Joey woke to something tickling his fingers. He raised his head and opened his eyes, sighing at the sight of Mongy licking the back of his hand.

'Not today, son,' he withdrew his arm, using it to assist himself in getting up.

The dog whined.

'Not today, Mongy, okay? I've got important business to attend to.' He moved to climb out of bed, and Mongy immediately scrambled up from his current spot and sat on his owner's shoes.

'Oh, Mon _gy_!' Joey moaned.

'Eh,' came a wheeze from Billy's bed. 'We're tryin' to kip, you know!'

Joey refrained from pointing out that it was the youngest Boswell who had all kept them from 'kipping', as he put it, for hours last night, going on and on about how Julie now wanted all the presents she'd ever given him back (_'and I've already sold some of 'em!'_ he'd whinged, _'an' eaten the chocolates an' all!_') It had been past two before either Joey or Adrian had been allowed to try and drop off, and that was only because the pillow over Billy's head somewhat masked the sound of his sobbing. Not that Joey had found it that easy to sleep anyway. All night his thoughts had raced back and forth, first to Roxy and their disastrous afternoon encounter, then to Martina, then to Shifty, wherever he was, out there with Celia's car, and then to Celia herself. Too many messes, all at once. Too many problems, without obvious solutions. And that was before you started to factor in Billy's woes and the seventeen rejections from publishers Adrian had had this week, and Nellie's continual complaining as she adjusted to life without Aveline and Jack's return was delayed day after day, week after week. Too much, too much and not enough time, not enough resources, not enough _Joey_ to take care of it all.

Mongy gave a little yip and padded across the room, taking full advantage of the fact that Billy, in pulling the bedclothes right over his head, had left his feet exposed.

'Oi! Geroff!' came a muffled shout, as the dog began to sniff along the soles of the youngest Boswell's feet. 'Mongy! Get _off!_'

Joey chuckled to himself, taking advantage of the dog's temporary lack of interest in him and hoisting himself out of bed. Oh, well. Better start somewhere, and get these problems tackled. He didn't have any jobs for a few days- might as well make the most of that time and sort a few things out.

Nellie was already up when he arrived downstairs, the cordless phone glued to her ear, talking in very strange, hushed tones.

'Oh, yes, well I don't know if I'll be able to…_thank you!_' As soon as her head turned, and she beheld him standing there, her whole demeanour changed- her whole _self_, even. Her posture became upright and rigid, and a very fake, and almost frightening smile manifested itself. She nodded vigorously, though to him, or to the person on the other end of the phone, Joey couldn't tell.

'Thank you!' She said again. 'Thank you!' More nodding. 'Thank you!'

And with a final word of thanks and a final nod, she pushed the antenna down into the phone and put it down on the table.

Joey eyed his mother, unsure what to make of the odd situation.

'Oh,' she gave an airy little laugh, so unlike her Joey wondered if some impostor had taken her place. 'Joey! Good morning! Sleep well? Would you like some breakfast? Yes, yes, of course you would!' She was talking a million miles an hour as well. This was beyond odd- this was…well, Joey didn't think his vocabulary was big enough. Adrian's probably was. At least, he noticed, for the first time in several weeks, his Mam looked genuinely happy. Coy, secretive, perhaps, but happy. She may be acting strange, but he doubted there was any new problem on the horizon.

In that case, he was free to get on with the hefty stack of problems he already had to deal with.

'No thanks, Mam,' he assumed his most winning smile and patted her shoulder. 'I've just got a spot o' business to attend to- ' never mind the fact that it wasn't a mere spot, but an enormous inky stain of business – 'so I'll be back later today, okay?'

'Not like you, Joey,' Nellie murmured, as Joey lunged for a piece of toast from the toast rack to take with him, 'taking care of business during the day! My Joey's always been a night owl…'

'Well, sometimes you fancy a change, don't you?' Joey leaned down to kiss her cheek, and then stuffed the toast in his mouth to make use of both hands. 'Shee y' ladr, 'ky?'

He didn't stop to see if his mother understood his garbled words or not. Joey was back on the street before he knew it, ignoring Grandad's shouts of _you've forgotten me tray_ and heading in the opposite direction, towards Celia's house.

He had no idea what to say, of course. He had no idea what to do. But while sometimes, Joey Boswell went out equipped with a brilliant plan, and a few brothers as backup, other times he'd found heading out with no plan at all could work just as well. He was a resourceful lad, if he did say so himself, and he could find a way out of some of these messes if he had just a teensy bit more information to go on. He knocked on the door.

'Celia?' he called. No response, but the door was on the latch. He pushed it open and stepped into the house.

Celia's home always unnerved him a little. He'd never seen a place so green, nor so full of animal rights posters. Every wall was covered in them, and while Joey would have liked to take one or two home to give his brothers a hint, the sight of them made him very aware of the leather clinging to his skin. Joey looked down at the floor, feeling a little disgraced in the sight of the posters, and pushed forward into the kitchen.

'Celia?'

'What are you doin' 'ere?' It was not Celia who greeted him, but a burly and rather sleep-deprived looking policeman, who cradled his hat in his arms and scowled at Joey's intrusion.

Celia herself was at her kitchen table, head resting on one hand.

'Oh, hiya love!' She called across the room, but the smile was forced, and unlike Nellie's strange countenance a few minutes ago, this one didn't seem born of some weird, guilty-pleasure-type secrecy, but of a desperate attempt to hide bad news.

Joey looked from one to the other and felt his stomach turn. 'What's happened?'

The constable's frown increased, his brows moving downwards until they merged into one.

'This is a private call, sir. I am not at liberty to discuss this with strangers…' he paused, scrutinising Joey. 'I have the feelin' I know you…'

'Joey Boswell.' Joey grinned, holding out his hand.

The policeman ignored his outstretched arm.

'Oh, no,' he said, turning his head slowly to one side, then to the other. 'Oh, no. Kelsall Street. Boswell. Why does all this sound 'orribly familiar?'

Joey's grin turned impish of its own accord. 'Oh, we're known for many things, us Boswells. We're celebrities, didn't you know?'

The man made a face. 'Not from what I've heard.' He appeared to be debating saying more, but instead opted for slapping his hat back on his head.

'Madam,' he turned to Celia, lightly touching the brim, 'I'll be in touch.' And he left, throwing a slightly derisive look at the eldest Boswell as he went.

Joey waited less than a second before pulling up a chair beside Celia, sitting down without being invited and helping himself to some of the tea she'd left out.

'Is it Shifty?'

Celia didn't even need to speak, didn't even need to nod or shake her head. The expression on her face said it all.

'They found him this morning,' she poured herself some tea, shooting him a look when she realised how much of the stuff Joey had taken. 'All the way up at Manchester, he was. Must have driven half the night to get there.' She looked Joey in the eye properly, and he noticed no tears in her huge blue orbs, nor fear, nor worry, just a sort of resignation. Celia loved Shifty, Joey knew. She'd never stopped, not when he betrayed her the first time, not when she found out he'd moved on from her and was seeking happiness with Martina (and she wasn't the first after they'd split up), and, he was quite sure, not now the man had robbed her and done a runner. But Celia was realistic. She didn't hold onto hopes or dreams. Oh, she wasn't as negative as some he could mention, particularly those whom he knew worked in Social Security offices, but she wasn't one to get dewy-eyed over dreams that couldn't be, either. And if she was looking like this, it meant she'd already accepted something terrible that had happened, and was preparing to bounce back from it.

'And…?' he prompted, though he knew what she was going to say even before she'd uttered a word.

'Oh, they arrested him of course,' she sighed, letting her liberally padded shoulders heave. 'He'll be serving out another six months' sentence at least, they're guessin'.' She smiled wryly. 'They're returnin' the car to me, of course. A couple o' days and I should have it back. That is, if it isn't smashed up somethin' awful.' She laughed, but it was forced and he could tell.

'Aw, hey,' he said, 'I'm sorry about that car, sweetheart. Did you even get to drive it?'

Celia sighed again. 'Oh, don't worry about that, love.' She smiled, but this one was wily and fox-like. 'I only bought it to annoy you.'

Joey's own smile grew and spread, and he held back a laugh that bubbled up in his throat. 'Oh, you did, did you?'

'Well, and to claim the spot that's rightfully mine, of course.'

'Of course,' Joey replied with a snort. 'Of course.'

'Well, it is! And when I get me car back, it can be returned to its rightful 'ome, can't it?'

'Not if its so-called 'rightful home' is filled by the car whose _actual_ rightful home it is!'

'Joey Boswell!' Celia scolded, but she was all but giggling, and Joey savoured his success in cheering her up again. His Mam had always said Joey had a way with people, had been able to coax out the best of them, or at least whatever part of them would bend to his will and get him what he wanted. He'd been very successful in business because of it, able to smoothly and carefully make deals by playing on what made people happy. He'd been able to cheer up and comfort family members many a time. Then again, he thought, looking back on his lack of success with Roxy, his lack of success with Martina, perhaps this wasn't _wholly_ true. He perhaps couldn't read _all_ people so well. But he could read Celia enough to know how to help her, and for that he was grateful.

He left her house comforted in the knowledge that at least one person connected to this tangled web of catastrophes was all right. He could cross Celia and her car off his list of problems, anyway.

Her revelation about Shifty, however had magnified one of the others. Shifty was in prison. Martina was now without a home, without any money- and after spending the last of what she had on keeping Shifty _out_ of gaol in the first place- and now without a partner either. It wasn't something she'd want to hear, by any account, but Joey couldn't hold off on that one- he was going to have to inform her, and as soon as possible. He owed that to her at least.

_Poor girl_, he thought, getting into his Jag and not even pausing to think about how he could get it into Celia's spot later, _ she won't take this well_.

* * *

><p>'Greetings!'<p>

The woman at the counter gave Joey her best sour face.

'_Yes_?' She spat.

Joey cocked his head to one side, trying to appear lovably cheeky and charming at the same time. He wasn't entirely sure he could pull it off, the way his insides were roiling and reeling with worry, but 'I wonder if you could do me a favour.'

The lips became even more pursed. 'We don't do favours here.'

'Ah, well _yes_- I understand, but I was merely inquiring as to what had happened to my usual girl? Martina?' he rolled her name around in his mouth, hoping it came out without any trace of the fear he felt for her. 'I notice her desk is vacant at present.'

Martina's absence had upset the very balance of the DHSS- Joey had been waiting half an hour just to get his chance at the counter, whilst the two very frazzled remaining clerks tried to sort out her clients as well as their own. _This isn't right, this is very wrong, this is_…the words were pounding around Joey's head, but he kept calm and cheerful on the outside. He was never going to get anywhere if he started panicking. Unlike Billy and Adrian, he knew all too well that that course of action got you nowhere, just threw you up against a wall and left you further from your goal than ever. He just stuffed his hand in his pocket and crossed his fingers Martina hadn't done anything drastic to herself.

'_Your_ usual girl? Nobody is assigned to specific clerks here, you know.'

He ignored this. 'I was just, er, _wonderin' _if you might happen to know where I can reach her?'

The woman looked astounded. 'Don't think she's gonna do you any favours, lad. Our services are the same no matter _who_ is servin' you.'

'Ah, yes, excellent point,' Joey felt perhaps now he was going a bit too far with the charm, but if it got him a bit closer to finding Martina it was all right by him '_but_ I need to convey a rather…shall we say, urgent message to her.'

She frowned. 'Message? What kind o' message?'

Joey restrained himself from gritting his teeth. 'An _urgent_ one.'

'I'm sorry, we don't give out personal addresses or telephone numbers of staff 'ere. You want to see her, you take it up with her.'

'Ah, _but_,' Joey wasn't having this, and it wasn't in a Boswell's nature to give up so easily, 'this is about her…er…her partner.'

'Yeah?' The woman did not sound entirely convinced, and Joey wondered what might be the best way to worm some sort of contact detail out of her. He didn't want to _lie, outright_- tactfully manipulating the truth until it suited his needs was more his style, but he was becoming impatient. Every second he didn't get to her was at worst another second Martina could be harming or even killing herself, or, at the very least, another second she didn't know about Shifty.

'Yeah,' he breathed. 'Thing is, I have to inform her…' how on earth did he appropriately phrase this? He was talking to a woman who was all but a stranger, about to start discussing the fact that his cousin had bankrupted her colleague and then disappeared with somebody else's car. 'I have to inform her …that he's dead.'

The woman's spectacles nearly fell off her nose.

'Martina's partner's not dead!'

'Well, I'm afraid,' Joey continued with his act, ''e is now. See,' he improvised, ', er, I'm the executor of 'is estate. I'm told I could reach her through here.'

The woman squinted at him dubiously.

'The executor of his estate.'

'Yes.'

'You.'

'Indeed.'

'Then why do I get the feelin' I've see you around 'ere before? And why did you refer to Martina as your _usual_ girl?'

'I…I read a lot of wills in the DHSS,' Joey said, feeling his story slipping somewhat. 'Well, it's often where you catch people, isn't it? All the people who have not yet realised they are someone's beneficiary, waitin' in line for their giros because they don't know they'll soon never need to claim again…'

'So you,' the DHSS clerk said, 'are the executor of _all_ these people's estates?'

'I'm very well-trusted by a lot of people,' Joey grinned winningly.

The woman blinked at him for a moment, then reached for a pen and paper.

'If I give you Martina's address, will you go away?'

Success at last. 'But of course,' Joey held out his hand for the paper. 'Much obliged to you, sunshine. Much obliged.'

He stood, considering something as he did.

'Oh, and by the way, if you ever need your will read…let us know.' He winked, revelling in the lady's confused reaction, although somewhat disappointed it wasn't anywhere near as amusing as Martina's, and strode out, clutching the paper in his hands like a trophy.

* * *

><p>It occurred to Martina, as she sat there not going to work, not moving from the sofa, not eating (if she even had any food to not eat) or changing or washing or moving, that she probably should at least lock the door. She debated this for a few seconds, then decided against it, slumping back into the sanctuary of the cushions. She didn't own anything of enough value for any burglar to want to take, and seeing as she was about to be evicted anyway, she could hardly be bothered to begrudge some squatters from setting up camp in somebody else's flat, should they choose to do so. Then again, she thought, approaching the matter from another angle, leaving it unlocked could give Shifty the ability to come back in.<p>

She got up and went to lock the door.

'Greetings!'

Martina's hand hadn't even touched the bolt before the door swung right open, and Joey Boswell- _oh, why did it have to be Joey Boswell_- pranced into the room.

'Nice place you've got here, sweetheart,' he looked around approvingly.

Martina stood in the doorway in shock, mouth dropping open as Joey plonked himself on the sofa where she'd just been sitting and crossed his legs.

'What are you doin' 'ere?'

'Visiting,' Joey said cheekily.

Perhaps that slap she hadn't given him the other day would be appropriate right about now. She didn't know how he'd managed to find her flat, or why he had decided to come here at the worst possible moment to annoy out of her any spirit she had left, but Martina was not in the mood. There wasn't even any way she could use his annoyance to motivate her- how was she supposed to bring him down when she couldn't even bring _herself up?_

'Yeh've visited now,' she sighed, flopping down beside him, 'so go away, unless you've got anythin' 'elpful ter say.'

The smile fell off of Joey's face, and he clenched his hands together.

'Ah, thing is, sweetheart…I came to inform you o' somethin', actually…'

'Oh, yeah?' She couldn't even inject a bit of expression into the words.

'It's, er…' Joey took hold of her hands, and for one horrifying moment she thought he was going to do some sort of ridiculous gesture, like ask for her hand in marriage. If he did, then so help her, she…

'It's Shifty.'

'Oh, God,' Martina groaned. 'Whatever 'e's said, I-'

'You, er…you won't be seein' 'im for a while, I'm afraid. Perhaps a long time.'

'The longer the better,' she muttered, before it dawned on her that he was trying to convey some form of bad news. 'What's 'appened?'

'Last night,' Joey fiddled with the zipper on his leather jacket, 'Shifty…look, I'm just gonna say it fast, sweetheart, I know you're in no mood for embellishments. Last night, Shifty nicked our neighbour's car, drove to Manchester and to cut a long story short, he's in prison again.'

'Oh.' This should have been news, but she was beyond being shocked at anything Shifty did.

'Are you okay?'

Of course she wasn't, but Martina couldn't be bothered even to respond.

'Thing is, we—that is, the fam-i-ly—feel quite badly about what 'appened, and, well…we want to help.'

Martina snorted. 'Help? Oh, this'll be good. Gonna lay off the false claims for a while, are yer, until I'm feelin' better?'

Joey looked affronted. She didn't care. Hearing pathetic platitudes from a man who did nothing but make her life harder was not going to do anything.

'Actually,' Joey began.

'You're gonna break Shifty out of gaol so I can suffer some more? Get me put in there with 'im so we can be together again? P'raps I should let yer- at least I'd be sure o' regular meals in there.' Her words were bordering on the ridiculous side now, but as Joey Boswell was the very embodiment of ridiculous, it hardly mattered.

'_Actually_,' Joey said, as if he hadn't registered anything she'd said (and knowing him, he probably hadn't), 'I asked Grandad if you and Shifty could move in with 'im 'til you could get another place.'

'Oh, I see, so you could…_what?!'_ All her prepared responses died on her tongue. Well, this was…unexpected, to say the very least. It had caught her completely off-guard. She snatched her hands out of his, clenching and unclenching them as the shock began to take over her body.

'You can't mean that!' This was a very bad joke to say the least. Joey might be able to get away with flippant little remarks about allowances and DHSS regulations, but to tease about something as serious as her impending homelessness was overstepping the line. Any second now, he was about to laugh, say he was kidding and go off chuckling at his insultingly dreadful sense of humour. And when he began to do so, she'd whack him in the face. She began mentally preparing herself.

But Joey's face did not change. No laugh escaped his throat, no smirk curved into existence; he remained a picture of solemnity.

'I can mean it. I did.' He shrugged, a slight smile emerging, 'he said no, of course, but that's no matter. _We_ can put you up, no sweat.'

'Mister Boswell, can you stop now? Only this isn't the least bit funny, and—'

'No, Martina,' he reached for her hands again, but she snatched them away, 'I really do mean it! Don't you see, sweetheart? I'm serious. We were gonna find somewhere for you and Shifty, of course we were! Shifty's fam-i-ly, after all. We can't see 'im and 'is girlfriend pushed off onto the streets, now, can we?'

Martina was speechless. She scrutinised Joey's face, trying to spot any hidden traces of insincerity that could confirm to her that this was a joke after all- she was beginning to wish it were, now- that he hadn't _actually_ been thinking of taking her into his house.

'But I…wouldn't call meself 'is girlfriend anymore,' Martina managed to splutter, her heart pounding. 'And 'e's in prison now, so you're off the hook.'

Joey smiled again, another strange smile that the DHSS lady couldn't identify, and shuffled in closer to her.

'You honestly think we'd leave you to suffer? Look, you were with Shifty- hey, you looked after 'im when none of us would put up with 'im. That makes you family.' Joey looked deep into her eyes, in an uncomfortable, but somehow also touching way.

'And we do for family.'

* * *

><p><strong>Well, the plot's finally trundling along on its way, after nearly an entire chapter just of Joey being cheeky to various people. I have far too much fun writing scenes like that. <strong>


	6. Too much, plus Roxy

**Well, it's Monday and that means update time! I've been so slack on keeping ahead with this fic though- I've been on chapter 8 for weeks, and it's turned massive. Ah well. It's getting there. This one's a bit fillerish, but there are some things which will prove useful later...**

* * *

><p><strong>6<strong>

**Too much, plus Roxy**

'Billy! For goodness' sake, do summat useful and get those boxes out the way!'

'They're heavy, aren't they? I'll break me back carryin' all them!'

'One at a time, Billy,' Joey touched his forehead, sensing a headache coming on, 'one at a time.'

Billy made a show of heaving one box off the pile, making grunting and groaning noises despite the fact that it contained nothing but Aveline's old clothes.

Joey surveyed his sister's old bedroom with a strange mix of satisfaction, nostalgia and uncertainty. After a whole lot of nagging, and a whole lot of missing Jack, whose strength would have been of much more use moving everything around, Joey had coaxed, threatened and eventually forced Billy and Adrian into sorting out Aveline's old things. The pile of boxes of possessions their sister hadn't wanted to bring to Oswald's, but had insisted on keeping in case she 'needed them later', was slowly being relocated to one of Grandad's spare rooms. (The old man had grumbled, naturally, but when Joey had given him the choice between keeping the boxes and Martina in his house, he'd grudgingly chosen the former.) The rug had been rolled back out, and the furniture set back up. The room was beginning to look like a proper bedroom again, and Joey, though wistful thoughts of having heart-to-hearts with Aveline in here kept springing up like mushrooms in his head, was beginning to feel that this might actually turn out all right. Aveline's old abode-turned-storage-annex was becoming a respectable place for a guest to stay in, and he was confident that by the time they'd finished with it, there would be nothing about it that even Martina could find to complain about.

'It's not fair, this!' Billy whined, plonking the box down in the passage for any passers-by to trip over, 'I thought when Aveline moved out we'd all get more space! I 'ad great plans for this room! It was gonna be me office for the sandwich business!'

'What d'you need an office for?' Adrian shot back. 'You take your sandwiches with you in your van and count your takings by the side of the road! I should get this bedroom- I need somewhere to sit in peaceful solitude and let me creative muse flow through me. Crammed in that room wi' your mess everywhere, our Joey's cologne fouling up the atmosphere and all the things Jack didn't take with him eatin' up half the room, not to mention everything _you_ traipse through there—and you in general, for that matter—my personal space is 'angin' by a thread! Angin' by a thread!'

'What about me—if I 'ad this as a bedroom I could 'ave Julie round—'

'She only lives over the road! And if you started bringing all that rowin' into our house, then I—'

'Eh, cut it, the pair o' you!' Joey snapped, staring them into silence. 'First off, neither of you is gettin' this room—Martina is, and that's the end of it. And secondly, if any of us had claim to this room, as the eldest it would automatically go to me.' He allowed himself a playfully smug smile just to diffuse the tension a little. His brothers scowled at him.

'And as rightful heir to this bedroom,' said Adrian bitterly, 'I suppose you think that makes it all right to open it—and your house—up to lodgers!'

'I _explained_…' Joey began.

'The DHSS lady!' Adrian's face was paling just from saying the words. 'The DHSS lady…you're going to let _that woman, _who has time and time again reduced me to a nervous wreck- who wants to ruin you, might I add—live with us?'

'_That woman_, as you call her, is one of us. She's not just a woman, she's _our Shifty's girlfriend_…sort of. Maybe. I don't know where they stand at present, but all the same…'

'_She's FAMILY_,' said all three brothers at the same time, the younger two rolling their eyes.

'God help us if now everyone who's maybe _possibly_ dated one of us, or even spoken to a member of our family is now counted as 'one of us,' Adrian continued. 'Why don't you just invite Carmen to stay here? I went out with her for six months, after all. Or the taxi driver who sometimes helps our Mam bring the shopping into the house, or…or…you do realise, Joey, that Martina will be tryin' to get us all thrown in prison. Our entire house will be under scrutiny! All our phones, nearly all _your_ possessions full stop, our washing machine and dryer, the traffic cones outside the house, the electric wire plugged into the streetlight…it'll all have to go, or else you'll have to blindfold her for the duration of her stay.'

Joey gritted his teeth. The man did have a point…

'Not that I support any of that, of course,' the poet-stroke-artist added hastily. 'I mean, I'm not one to go in for all that con-artist, illegal sort of stuff that the rest of you all pull off, but if she finds out about any of it she'll take us all down, and my integrity—not to mention my reputation—is 'angin'—'

'We'll cross that bridge,' Joey said calmly, firmly cutting off the rest of Adrian's favourite neurotic refrain, 'when we come to it. Okay?'

'Well we 'ave come to it,' piped up Billy.

'Billy—boxes!'

The youngest Boswell grumbled and went back to his assigned task, moving a box about a quarter of an inch across the floor and then panting heavily.

Joey tutted and sauntered off downstairs, leaving him to it and musing on his narrow escape. There was logic in what Adrian had said, of course. Letting Martina in could well mean their careful system of skiving, sneaking, scrounging and selling, not to mention not declaring any of it, could be pulled down in a matter of days. Martina delighted in telling him every chance she got how one day she'd have him, and allowing her to not only come into but _live_ in their house, he could be effectively putting his family's heads on the chopping block.

What else could he have done, though? He'd never seen Martina look so utterly destroyed. Every ounce of her fighting strength had gone, even more so than when she had first revealed her financial troubles to him. There was so little of her left—the Martina who challenged and teased him, _his_ Martina…no, not 'his', just…anyway… - that she'd barely even reacted when he'd told her about Shifty's incarceration. Not even a glimmer of anger. That wasn't like her at all. The state she was in had wiped away her spirit, and though Joey had felt there wasn't a lot he could do for her, what with Grandad putting his foot down about his spare rooms, he'd gone ahead and offered her a place to stay anyway. Anything, he'd thought, to stop her completely giving up on herself and letting herself sink into poverty. That wasn't who she was, and Joey would not let her be reduced to that. She'd fight her way back up, and if he needed to give her a leg-up, so be it.

He'd work out how to actually provide what he'd promised afterwards, he'd reasoned, and by the time he'd pulled up outside Celia's house that evening, put his Jag in park and waved cheekily at his fuming neighbour, he'd already mentally sketched out how they might fix up Aveline's old bedroom for her, and how he might break the news of her arrival gently to his family.

Joey could still hear the thump of Billy heaving boxes around upstairs as he stepped into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of tea.

'He'll do his back in with all that heavy lifting,' Nellie looked up from the stew she was stirring.

Joey tutted. 'No 'e won't—those boxes have only got Aveline's feather boas in!'

'Aveline's feather boas should remain sacrosanct!' The stirring picked up in pace. 'And now my precious daughter—not even gone to that Proddy for a month—is having her home torn apart for some… some snide little…uppity little…little…' Nellie was evidently having trouble finding a derogatory term in her vocabulary that wasn't 'tart.' She took a jab at the stew with her wooden spoon, then flung it down and stepped away from the stove.

'Mam,' Joey said softly, 'why don't you sit down?'

He took a seat beside her, gently touching her shoulder as he did.

'Has this really upset you this much?'

'I'm not upset, Joey, no, I'm not _upset_,' she shook her head. 'But I do wish you weren't blessed with _such _ a soft heart, love. Last time you volunteered out home we ended up with that Shifty, and the damage _he_ caused is still evident, isn't it? Now it's not even a relative, it's…_some woman_. _Some woman_ daft enough to let that Shifty walk all over her and make all her money disappear. I'm not sure I want someone so _careless_ under my roof.'

The eldest Boswell was beginning to think Nellie's arguments against Martina were somewhat lacking in logic. During their first conversation about this she'd jumped from not wanting strangers in the house to the fact Martina was the DHSS lady to the injustice of forcing the others to make room for someone new, and this time round, what with 'carelessness' coming up, Joey suspected either Nellie didn't have a real reason, just general objections, or she was skating around the truth, clutching at every straw possible to avoid explaining why she really didn't want Martina here.

'She's not as careless as all that!' he rebutted.

'Well, I should _hope not!_ Our Billy has enough trouble keeping his mind on track with all this Julie business, without careless influences around him!'

'Steady on, Mam! She does take care o' people's finances, doesn't she? You know, down the DHSS.'

She paused, considering, and Joey held his tongue, anticipating either a complaint or another bout of irrationality.

Nellie continued to sit and think, lowering her head as if in prayer, and when she raised it, her eyes were glistening.

'You know, Joey,' she laughed slightly, seemingly in disbelief at herself for whatever she was about to say, 'it's not even all that that bothers me. Not really.'

'Oh?' Joey asked, acting as if he hadn't suspected it all along. 'What is it, then?'

Nellie wrung her hands. 'Well, it's just that…if someone starts living in Aveline's room, it really means that…'

Oh. _Oh, of course. _

'That she's not comin' back,' Joey finished for her as it clicked in his brain. 'I know, Mam. I know. But you'll have to accept, whether you like it or not, that Aveline has flown the coop. She's gotten married…'

'To a _Proddy Vicar!_'

'…as most normal people do, and she's gone to live with her husband. And I know, Mam, that things aren't gonna be the same now. I know it means you won't see Aveline as often, and when you do, she might have Oswald with her, and p'raps some children, and she won't stay as long…but she still loves you, Mam. She'll still be your daughter—and our sister—wherever she goes.'

She sighed, and he patted her arm.

'And no-one—_no-one_ is ever gonna replace her.'

Their eyes met, and they stayed that way, blue-green locked with warm brown, frazzled but loving mother seeing noble, well-meaning son. For a second or two, nothing in the world existed but the two of them, immersed in mutual love and understanding.

Nellie was the one to break the moment, tearing her eyes away from her son and drawing a deep breath.

'I miss her, Joey. She's my little girl, and she's been banished away to the land of the Protestants…'

'She's not been _banished_,' Joey couldn't help a little chortle. 'Look, why don't you go and phone her? Hear all her news? Tell her about all ours? Might make you feel a bit better, and help you realise she's not gone forever.'

'You know, I think I will.' She rose, picking up the cordless phone, but as she move to dial, it rang of its own accord.

She jumped. 'Oh, Joey! It's Aveline! She must've known I was going to phone!' Nellie, beside herself, pressed the button to answer and put the phone to her ear. 'Aveline! Aveline! I was just…oh…' The look on her face changed, her tone completely morphed, and Nellie Boswell began self-consciously touching her hair. 'Thank you!'

Joey blinked._ Obviously not Aveline_. Funny, she'd done this just the other day...

'Thank you!' Nellie said again, her voice almost a full octave higher than normal, and Joey, not quite sure what was going on, but tactful enough not to interfere, slipped out of the room. Something was going on there, but he had a bit too much on his plate just now to start being curious about his mother's private affairs.

He seated himself in the parlour instead, sipping his tea and listening absently to Nellie _thank-you-_ing in the kitchen and Adrian and Billy rowing upstairs. They'd all be all right, he decided. Nellie's objection to Martina was nothing more than an understandable motherly regret that her world was changing around her, that she was losing her daughter, and having another woman around to chat to about these things, he reasoned, would probably end up doing her good. And as for the others…well, they would learn to live with it.

He sat for a few minutes more, just sipping his tea and thinking.

Well, that was one problem down. Martina would have a home, she wouldn't have to be bankrupted, she could go back to being her old self and he could keep on teasing money out of her. Of course, there was still the issue of Shifty being behind bars to sort out at some point, and Joey thought he should _probably_ at least visit him soon, but seeing as the Irishman was stored securely somewhere where he couldn't easily get the family into trouble or commit any more crimes, Joey wasn't overly worried at present. Jack still wasn't back, but that was only a matter of time, and Aveline was still gone, but that wasn't likely to change, so apart from Celia and the moral dilemma he faced over whether to leave her be after the car theft incident or continue with the parking war, everything was in fairly good sha—

'Oh, God!' Joey jumped up from the sofa. No, no, it wasn't all in good shape at all! How could he have forgotten? His phone had been ringing off the hook in the car the other day, and, swamped with other issues, he'd never gotten around to returning the call.

Cursing his own forgetfulness, Joey whipped out his mobile and dialled.

'Hello?' the husky voice purred.

'Roxy, look, I'm sorry I didn't—'

'Just forget it, Joey!' Roxy snapped. 'If you were tryin' to prove you could put me above yer family, you've failed miserably.'

'I've had a lot to sort out—'

'Oh, yeah, you've had a lot to sort out. And next time you'll have a lot to sort out as well. And the next time I see you, you'll probably answer your phone to talk to your Mam…'

'Look, I can't say enough times that I'm sorry about that!'

'Yeah, you know what? You can't. That was unforgivable, Joey I still can't even believe you'd do it! And I'm...'

Joey didn't have the presence of mind to respond. Perhaps it was all the stress of everything else he'd had to take care of of late, and the things he'd yet to solve, or his shame at having phoned his Mam while in bed with Roxy and then run off, but his girlfriend's (if she was…was she?) voice was just doing his head in. It drilled at his brain, needling him until all his insecurities leaked out, and, instead of speaking, instead of trying to defend himself, instead of even listening, his thumb acted for him and disconnected the call, and his wrist took charge of his body and tossed it onto one of the vacant armchairs.

He couldn't deal with Roxy sometimes. He loved her, _oh, God, how he loved her_, but he just couldn't do this right now. Every time he tried to make amends, somehow things ended up ten times worse. Granted, this was sometimes due to him, or his family, but the woman had the thinnest patience of anyone he'd ever encountered, and her words, her digs…every one of them sliced into his psyche. He just couldn't cope right now. She'd be angry at him hanging up, she knew, but she was angry with him anyway, and her wrath could wait until he could cope with her.

He leaned back against the sofa, shutting his eyes and letting out a deep breath.

_Too much to cope with. Too much, plus Roxy._

* * *

><p><strong>And, we're slouching on towards Bethlehem now. Up next, some slightly bigger developments, plot-wise. <strong>


	7. Emigration to Boswell-land

**I'm going to update early (or rather, on the day I was originally going to do my updates on before I started getting lazy and putting it off til the Monday) because I've got quite a busy week next week and I want to get ahead on writing ch10 tonight. Plot is now moving ahead... plus this one has a fair bit of Joetina. Enjoy.**

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><p><strong>7<strong>

**Emigration to Boswell-land**

'I can't afford me rent.'

'Tell me about it,' Martina muttered, twiddling her pen between her fingers. She still hadn't quite gotten over the humiliation of having been evicted, and a part of her brain—a large part…most of it, actually—was still reeling over the fact that Joey Boswell had offered her to come and live with his family. And _she had accepted the offer_.

She wouldn't have, of course. No, Martina was well above taking charity, and certainly not inclined to fall upon _the Boswells_. That completely undermined her—if she depended on them, they might try and make her feel obligated somehow, obligated not to report them for their misdeeds or provide them with benefits they weren't entitled to.

But, well, she was flat broke, after all. And she _did_ have a very limited amount of time to find somewhere to live and no money to do it. Her own mother hadn't even wanted to take her in—not that Martina would have wanted to any more than she wanted to live with her arch-nemeses and least favourite clients, but still. One would have thought 'family' meant a certain degree of duty toward one's struggling relatives. The Boswells certainly took that notion seriously. To the extreme, even. Joey repeatedly stressed that she was family because of Shifty, and though she'd protested that she no longer even knew where she stood on her relationship with Shifty, that she wasn't sure they were together anymore, or that she wanted them to be, it hadn't made any difference.

He'd offered and offered, pointing out every reason why taking lodgings in Kelsall Street made sense, and though Martina still held a great number of reservations about the whole thing, she couldn't exactly be choosy. There wasn't a hope for her pulling together enough money for her back rent by the end of the month, let alone to put a bond on a new place. If she wanted to survive, she'd have to take what she was given and go from there—it was hopefully only for a short time, anyway…

But still, the thought of taking lodgings _with the Boswells_…

''Ere! Are you gonna come out o' yer fantasy world and do summat about this or ain'tcha?'

Martina was snapped from her thoughts, realising to some dismay that a pug-faced customer had his hands outstretched over the counter, and was screwing up his eyes and mouth at her as he awaited some sort of response.

'Oh, er, yes, Mister…?' He'd said his name at the beginning of this discussion, but Martina had been too preoccupied to write it down. It had been like this all week, her getting distracted at the slightest thing.

'Kendall!' He snapped.

Ah, that was right. Kendall. Sounded like _Kelsall_. Like _Kelsall Street_, where most of the money from the Social Security ended up invested into two houses. Kelsall Street, where she was going to _live_…

'MY-RENT!' Mr. Kendall slapped his hands down on the counter.

Martina shook her head. All right, she was going to focus now.

'I can't afford it! What are you gonna do about it?'

Martina assumed her best cold-and-heartless face.

'I think it's repugnant,' she said, 'that when people takin' advantage o' this system run into a bit o' trouble, they come runnin' to us and expect us ter sort it all out for them—wipe their little noses every time things get a bit rough…'

'_I_ don't take advantage of the system,' Mr. Kendall interjected.

'While in the _real world_,' Martina continued, ignoring him, 'if the same thing 'appened, decent, honest, hard-working people are left to struggle, and suffer the consequences.'

'I _don't take advantage of the system_!' Mr. Kendall insisted again.

'Oh, no?' she glanced down at his card. With every client, even the ones she didn't know so well, there was a ninety per cent chance she'd find something exploitative she could bring up to make them squirm.

'Hmm,' she quirked an eyebrow, placing her index finger on the appropriate information, 'you wouldn't be the same Orson Kendall who 'anded in a bank statement with an 'undred pounds worth o' bar tabs on it, would yer?'

'What's that gotta do with anyfink?'

'_Well_,' Martina gave him a patronising smile, 'if you, say, spent that money on yer rent instead of on beer, you wouldn't 'ave such a problem, now, would yer?'

He spluttered. 'You don't get it, do yer? A workin' man's pint at the end of the day!'

'Or four…or ten…and was that _workin'_ I 'eard you just say?'

The man reddened. 'There's nothin' wrong with a drink, you know!'

She noticed he'd conveniently neglected to carry on the thread about the working.

'There is, if you don't 'ave enough left over fer yer livin' expenses.'

Mr. Kendall growled. 'You're no 'elp, are you?'

'Er, no. I'm not.'

'_Right_, then! I'll take me business elsewhere!' He got up, practically throwing his chair across the room before he stalked out.

'Good luck findin' another Social Security!' Martina called after him, feeling a knot undo in her chest. She still had it. Being extra nasty to her clients—or rather, being her usual self—eased some of her stress, made her forget for a minute that she had very little left in life. And, though she was dreading her upcoming move to Boswell-land, she had to grudgingly admit, having at least some form of security gave her slightly more motivation to keep going, to do her job properly and work for something. Even if that something was to be able to afford to get herself _out_ of Boswell-land as soon as was humanly possible.

She almost smiled.

And then, for smiling wasn't _quite_ something she was up to yet, she straightened her face and checked her watch.

Ten minutes 'til closing. She'd better start getting ready- she needed to get home before…

'You're always tryin' to sneak off early these days, you are,' remarked the woman in the next partition.

'Yeah…well…I'm movin', you see.' Seemed the easiest thing to say, without having to go into too much detail about her eviction, or the whole Boswell situation. 'Got some things to sort out beforehand, you know.'

'Oh, yeah?' said the other woman without much interest. She'd already gone back to her paperwork, and Martina was in some doubt as to whether she'd even listened to her answer.

Martina finished tidying her desk and slipped out the back door, walking as briskly as she dared in heels, because unless she got back early, it was inevitable that she wouldn't come home to an empty flat.

* * *

><p>'Oh, no. I had 'oped for <em>some<em> time alone this evenin'!'

So much for leaving work early. Joey Boswell was already waiting for her by the time she arrived, sitting in the corridor and leaning against the wall as though it were some sort of extension of himself. He grinned up at her, and she suppressed the urge to kick him in the face.

'Greetings!'

'Yes,' Martina responded through gritted teeth. 'That.'

Every evening for four days, Joey Boswell had been turning up at her apartment to 'help her pack it up,' and every evening, despite her obvious annoyance at him doing so, he had smothered her in _greetings_-es and tried to get her to say them back.

'You're fam-i-ly now,' he would coax, nudging her lightly with his elbow until she viciously jabbed him back. 'It's a classic Boswell thing to say.'

But, as Martina was always quick to remind him, she was not a Boswell, and in spite of which residence she may find herself in, nor would she ever be.

'So,' said Joey, scrambling up from the floor as she turned her key in the lock, 'what's the plan for tonight?'

'Take the boxes I've already made up, and then _go_,' she instructed. 'I'm not 'avin' any repeats of last night. You do _not_ need to take it upon yerself to pack me things for me.'

Joey smiled naughtily and she glared him down.

'_Especially_ where me undergarments are concerned.'

Joey shrugged in a manner which suggested he'd happily do it again if he got the chance.

'I was merely tryin' to assist you. You'll have to get used to that sort of thing, in a big fam-i-ly…'

'I maintain,' Martina snarled, 'that regardless o' how many people insist on callin' 'emselves me '_family,' _my underwear is private.'

She pushed the door open, and Joey immediately barged past her and bounded into the flat.

'Well, believe that if you like, but we all take turns doin' the washin'…'

Martina made a mental note to set aside a bit of money each week to go to the laundrette.

Joey glanced over at the boxes she'd prepared for him.

'For your room, or for Grandad's?'

'Room,' she muttered, tossing her keys onto the mantelpiece . She'd gotten most of the stuff she wanted to save for her own place—her crockery, the ornaments she could cope without for a while, her pots and pans and other kitchen accessories—out first, and they were, Joey reassured her, stowed safely away with his sister's (_sister's?_ Since when had he had a sister?) things in one of Grandad's rooms.

She was onto necessities now, things she wanted to keep with her, and as she started on her clothes, her books, her more personal items, her stomach had twisted into a great, tangled mess. Taking all her possessions out of her flat, and entrusting them to Joey's hands, signified that this was actually happening, that she was _actually_ leaving the flat she'd called home for the last five years, that she was _actually_ going to move in with Joey and his little band of criminals.

This wasn't just some bad dream, it was _real_—or if it was a dream, it was a very, very long, detailed, ongoing one.

'So, when I've done these,' Joey began, hoisting one box into his arms.

'You can go 'ome,' Martina said sternly.

'You're not comin' down tonight? This seems like just about everythin' now, apart from the furniture, and you said that came with the flat.'

'It did,' she began, 'but—'

'Are you sure you can't take any of it? 'Cause some of it could fetch a pretty penny…'

'Are you already tryin' to embroil me in yer moneymaking schemes, Mister Boswell?'

'Moneymaking schemes,' Joey chortled, laughing a bit too unconvincingly, 'of course not, sweetheart! Whatever would make you think that? Well, then, furniture aside, what are you waitin' for?'

'I've still got…one or two things to get together,' Martina lied. Truth was, she only had one suitcase left to go, and her toiletries, and then all that was left in the flat had been there when she moved in. But now…to go to Kelsall Street tonight…Martina just wasn't ready. She'd seen the sense in leaving the flat early—the landlord was going to start bringing people to look round the place in a week or two, and she wanted to be well and truly out by then. It was just…not tonight. Not now. She needed one more day to let it really sink in. Just one more.

Something in her face must have convinced Joey not to push her on it. He nodded.

'Okay, then, sweetheart, whenever you're ready to go. I'll be back tomorrow for the rest of your things, okay?'

Oh, not another night of Joey in her house. There was something a little unsettling about him being here, walking around her old home, the home she'd shared with Shifty for a while, and a different lover a couple of years before him, and a rather chirpy flatmate before that. This was where her private life, her life outside the DHSS, had always taken place, and to have a piece of her job—and such an annoying piece—in here just didn't sit right with her. Of course, she couldn't forget soon she would be pulled into his personal life, and not just his but of at least four of her clients', but even so, she'd rather just get into that, get the transition over with, than linger here with Joey intruding on her space.

'No!' she said hastily. 'Er—I mean, I'll get the rest o' me things sorted tonight, and 'and in me key tomorrer—I'll meet you after work.' And if it didn't feel like a sentence of doom she was committing herself to, saying those words.

Joey looked surprised. 'You sure?'

She exhaled. 'No point puttin' it off forever, is there?'

He seemed pleased by this comment. 'Quite right, sweetheart. Quite right. Well, until tomorrow, when the DHSS closes.'

He leaned in and, to Martina's great shock, dropped a little brotherly kiss on her cheek.

'Oh, and don't be nervous, sweetheart. They all love you…or they will, when we've finished with them.'

And on that note, he sashayed out of the flat with her stack of boxes, and Martina stood in the almost-empty parlour, astounded.

* * *

><p>When five o'clock rolled around, when the last of the grumbly customers had loped away clutching forms and the other clerks had called it a night and gone off home, Martina stood out the front of the Social Security building, her suitcase beside her and her coat wrapped around her to keep the chill off and to hide just how much she was sweating from fear.<p>

It hadn't seemed right, it hadn't really hit her that today was the day, not even when she'd woken up to see bare shelves and her case by the foot of the bed, waiting on the last of her things, not even when she'd dropped by her landlord's flat to relinquish her keys, not when she'd stumped into the Social Security office with her luggage and received some rather probing questions from the others that she'd had to fend off.

It had hit her now, though. She could see the black Jag pulling up by the side of the road, the familiar head of blond hair emerging from within, the locks being tousled by the wind. He was smiling as he approached, and her grimace intensified at the sight of him.

'You're adorable when you're nervous,' Joey announced, an annoying but welcome change from his usual _greetings_. 'Come on, sunshine. You've got a look on your face like you're about to be led to a firing squad.'

_In a manner of speaking_, Martina thought, wondering when she had managed to become afraid of a bunch of Boswells. She could eat them for breakfast in the DHSS, but then she had the home field advantage there, and she was about to be thrown into their territory. Who knew what would become of her?

What alternative did she have, though? It was a bit late to change her mind about it now. Everything was arranged.

'Oh, I'm just wondering,' she said, trying to sound braver than she felt, 'what tricks I'm gonna unearth in the weeks ahead.'

Joey cackled.

'Oh, are you just? Well, I'm sorry to say, we don't keep any evidence in the house,' he teased. 'We have it moved to our hideout when no-one's about. Now come on,' he bent and picked up her suitcase, taking hold of her arm with his other hand. 'Let's get you home.'

_Home_. The word sounded so odd, when it was describing the Boswells' house. It'd take a long time to get used to that.

Martina wasn't sure she ever would.

* * *

><p>'YOU,' Nellie Boswell delivered her words like they were knives; short, sharp jabs to the chest, 'WILL-SIT-<em>THERE<em>.' She pointed viciously and Martina sat.

Joey felt like burying his face into the wood of the table. He could already tell Martina's first dinner with the family wasn't going to go well, and it hadn't even started yet.

So far, Billy had hidden, come out and made a tactless comment about Shifty, then hidden again at Martina's furious stare, and Adrian had hidden, come out and made a tactless comment about money then hidden, and Grandad had come round to demand to know why dinner was late, made a tactless comment about hanky-panky and lodging, and skulked off.

And his Mam…oh, how Joey wanted to cringe at the way his Mam had been behaving. Nellie's 'welcome' had been more ferocious than friendly, when he'd showed Martina up to her room she'd followed them, barking a mess of complicated rules none of them ever followed and Martina wasn't likely to even understand, let alone remember, and had made about fifty comments about Aveline and how Martina was not to think she was taking the Boswell daughter's place.

As if she would.

Though, when Martina had said that, it had sparked yet another rant in Nellie, and Joey found himself cringing. The DHSS lady's constant sarcasm was part of her charm, but he did wish she'd keep a lid on it in front of his mother, who was already unhappy with her staying as it was.

'Aw, hey, a multi-coloured table we've got here! A multi-coloured table! And who's this intruder in Aveline's place?'

If Joey indeed _could_ have buried his face in the wood, it would have gone right through to the underside of the table by now.

_Aw, hey, Dad, of all the things you could have said…_

'An ill-mannered _DHSS_ _clerk_,' Nellie spat, 'who's _taken over my daughter's seat!'_

'At your command,' Martina said innocently, blowing a strand of hair out of her face.

Nellie made to round on her, and Joey grabbed at her arm, shooting a pleading look at her, and then a warning one at Martina.

'This,' he said to his Dad, ignoring the fact that his father had wandered in unannounced, as always, which was bound to cause some trouble, 'is Martina. She's very _grateful_ to be stayin' here with us for a while, and Mam is very _graciously_ takin' 'er in. Aren't you?' he widened his eyes pointedly at Martina, then turned to Nellie to do the same. '_Aren't you?'_

'Yes, of course,' muttered Nellie.

'S'pose,' muttered Martina.

'Yeller as the sun,' Freddie beamed, either oblivious to, or deliberately ignoring, the sparks of animosity flying between the pair, 'yeller as the sun.' He clapped Martina on the shoulder, as he was wont to do with the friends he referred to as 'the lads.'

'Welcome to the old home, love!'

Martina gave him a rather hesitant smile.

'Yeess, the _old_ home!' Nellie's head snapped up; she'd reloaded for another round. 'Reason being it's _not_ your home anymore, is it, because you're off living the life of a playboy in that FLAT of yours, with THAT…'

'Mam!'

Martina looked from Joey to Nellie to Freddie, bemused. Joey could see all the _what am I doing here?-_s reflected in her eyes. He'd only wanted to help, and this was going so terribly…

His Dad, on the other hand, seemed totally undaunted by the whole situation. He was taking seeing a stranger around the Boswell table in his stride, despite the discomfort felt by all other parties.

'Freddie Boswell,' he shook her hand vigorously, leaving her looking a bit stunned. 'I expect you've heard a few stories about me, haven't yer?'

His friendliness seemed to relax the DHSS lady just a little, and she cracked a smirk.

'Oh,' she said, sounding more like herself than she had in a while, 'I've 'eard one or two things…'

'All good, I hope…'

'I'm weighin' up me blackmail options…'

This drew a tremendous, booming laugh from the absentee Boswell patriarch. 'You're a colourful one, aren't you? A little cracker!'

'You leave her alone!' Nellie snapped.

'I was just bein' friendly, wasn't I?' He dropped the smile and laugh in order to bellow at his wife. 'I WAS JUST BEIN' FRIENDLY, BUT I SUPPOSE I'M NOT EVEN ALLOWED TO DO THAT, AM I?'

'NOT THAT YOU EVER TAKE ANY NOTICE OF 'ALLOWED', DO YOU, FREDDIE BOSWELL?! ELSE YOU WOULDN'T GO PRANCING OFF WITH LILO LIL!'

Joey gave up the fight and let his face fall to the table. There was no way this dinner was going to end well. There just wasn't.

* * *

><p>Nellie and Freddie's argument had just been the hors d'oeuvres, the entrée to a meal of embarrassment and general horrendousness that eclipsed every embarrassing moment in Joey's life.<p>

If Adrian hadn't been bad enough, creeping around and thus drawing more attention to himself, then daring himself to recite his newest poem, which just _happened_ to have rather unsubtle references to _frightful invaders_, _spreading fear with every glance_ and _the Scrooge of the modern day_, there was Billy.

There was Billy, who just opened his mouth and asked why Martina would bother to stay if she didn't like them, why Mam didn't like her and whether she would be looking for evidence of scams. Billy, who proceeded to tell her about the latest in the Julie saga, at first in the hope that somehow she'd take pity on him and give him some sort of extra money, and then later just because he seemed to like the sound of his own voice when he was ranting. Nellie had shouted at Martina to clear the table, Billy had shouted that he hadn't wanted to put the empty milk bottles outside for the milkman and Nellie had shouted at Martina to do that as well, and then she'd thrown the lot out of the kitchen to clean up.

When Martina retreated into the parlour, she looked completely overwhelmed. Joey followed her, sitting beside her and putting a comforting arm around her shoulders.

'You look a little over-Boswelled, sunshine.'

'Yeah,' she croaked. 'I think that'd be the word fer it.'

'Well, one day down…er, several more to go.'

'Oh, God!' Martina buried her head in her hands. 'How did this 'appen ter me? How did I end up stuck in this nightmare, with you runnin' the show and an army of aggressive little Boswells on the offensive?'

'Oh, we're not all _that_ bad, sweetheart!' Joey made sure to hide his offence at this remark. Of course it was going to take her a while to adjust, and she was under a lot of strain. Amiability would come in time. He couldn't push her too hard now. Instead, he just wrapped his arms further around her, gently rubbing her back until he felt her relax a little. Right now, the best thing, he decided, was simply to be what she needed—a friend, a comforter, someone to confide in while she adjusted to a rather difficult new life.

'I'm sorry,' Martina murmured; the first time Joey thought he had ever heard her utter an apology that wasn't sarcastic or a prompt for him to repeat himself when he'd said something unbelievable.

He released her from the embrace, keeping one hand on her back. 'Do you want to talk about anythin', sweetheart? You're welcome to, you know! You're lodgin' with us—you _are_ fam-i-ly, after all.'

'I'm just…' she seemed to think better of arguing with him and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, 'It 'asn't been a good week.'

'I know,' Joey said gently. 'I know.' He moved in to take her hand, and when she didn't resist, he smiled and guided her to her feet.

'Come on,' he coaxed, leading her towards the staircase, 'what you need is a good, long rest- okay? There's a bed waitin' for you upstairs. Let's get you into it.'

Martina hesitated, swivelling to give him a dubious look.

'_Your_ bed, sweetheart, _your_ bed!' Joey laughed. He knew her too well; he could guess instantly what she was thinking and the thought that her suspicions were so quick to be aroused endeared her to him. She was so prickly, so unwilling to put herself in anyone else' hands lest they commit some act of foul play- he had the feeling he only need offer her a chair and she'd be on the lookout for some unpleasant catch or secret scheme connected to the gesture.

The thought made his laugh evolve into a long, drawn-out snigger, but even as he was indulging in his amusement at her expense, a thought occurred to Joey. Martina's mistrust, funny as it might seem in some contexts, indicated an unease which probably stemmed from a number of unpleasant encounters in her past, Shifty included. He'd see if he couldn't coax some stories out of her later, but right now, the important thing was to make her feel at home here, or at least a little more relaxed.

'Just through there, sweetheart. That's it,' he encouraged. 'You go and get some rest. It'll all look better in the morning.'

She paused in the doorway to her room.

'Oh, I don't know about that,' she said, and though her voice still sounded downcast, there was a smile playing about her lips.

Joey smirked back. 'Goodnight, sweetheart.' He blew her a little kiss, and was treated to her trademark eyeroll before she went inside and shut the door.

* * *

><p><strong>Now she's actually in the house, we can get to the fun stuff! Stay tuned for very awkward moments between the Boswells and Martina and more shenanigans as she attempts to adjust to life in Kelsall Street. <strong>


	8. Off to the Woods We Go

**Update, yaaay! Also, I don't think I've done a disclaimer for a few chapters, so just to recap on that: I don't own Bread. But, you know, if I did, the series might have gone a bit differently towards the end, certain people might have ended up with other people, that sort of thing... ;) Anyhow, enjoy the chapter. **

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><p><strong>8<strong>

**Off to the Woods We Go**

Martina woke up feeling warmer and comfier than she had in years. Several thick, quilted blankets were drawn up to her neck, bathing her in a delicious heat, and she didn't remember coming to on such a soft mattress since…well, ever. Still floating through the divide between dream-state and full consciousness, Martina savoured every luxury she was swaddled in. This might be part of a fantasy, perhaps- she had entered some lovely limbo where her upcoming poverty, her miserable existence and every problem in between had been left behind, and the comfort was all there was. She settled back own into the heap of quilts, content to stay here, wherever 'here' was, and forget her troubles.

_'__Oi, geroff! What d'you think you're doin'!'_

_'__What do _I_ think I'm doing? You're the one pushing in!'_

The muffled voices niggled at Martina's nice moment, tugging at the edges and creating a gap for reality to seep back in.

She wasn't at home. This wasn't her bed- it was smaller, for a start, not built to accommodate two, and for perhaps the first time in many months, she'd actually managed to keep full possession of the bedclothes rather than losing them to Shifty.

She was somewhere, she realised, occupied by several other people- a hostel? A bedsit? Somewhere outside her door, something thumped hard.

_'__I wasn't pushin' in- it's my turn to use the bathroom. I bagsed it last night!'_

_'__And since when has 'bagsing' counted for anything? You know the rules- first in the queue, first served, and I have been waiting here- patiently, I might add, like a reasonable person- for at least ten minutes!'_

Another thump, the rattle of a doorhandle and then the slam of a door.

'_Billy!'_ came the outraged second voice, and an image of its owner marched into Martina's mind.

Adrian Boswell.

'_Oh_,' she groaned, pulling the blankets right over her head as it all came back to her. She wasn't inside a lovely dream after all- a _nightmare_ was more like it. Some madness had taken her, and compelled her to accept an invitation to stay with _the Boswells_.

Inside their house.

In _Kelsall Street_.

That was where she was now, sleeping in the vacated room of yet _another_ family member she'd never heard of up 'til now, listening to Billy and Adrian squabble over who got to use the bathroom, and wondering, quite frankly, what she'd done to end up in this ridiculous situation. And what had _Joey_ been thinking? Of all the daft schemes he'd come up with over the years she'd known him, this took the biscuit. Who invited someone they barely knew- and whose acquaintance consisted mostly of hatred and revenge plots- to come and _live _with them? A total lunatic, that was who. There was nothing else for it- Joey Boswell was a maniac.

Out on the landing, she heard another door creak open and click shut, and footsteps start across the passage. The entire house was waking, preparing for the day, and the horrible thought dawned on her that at some point she was going to have to get up and _join them_. The very idea made her nauseous. The awkward dinner she'd suffered last night didn't exactly warm her to the idea of an en core, and there was something about getting up with morning hair and breath and an overall dishevelled state, bathing in their bathroom (if she got a turn) and sitting down to breakfast with a family of which she was not part that seemed incredibly uncomfortable to Martina. She'd never really pictured herself as a lodger, never seen the appeal of the whole setup, regardless of how much money it might save, but the fact that she was now not only a lodger but the _Boswells'_ lodger doubled the embarrassment of it all.

Just staying in bed, pleading a headache or simply pretending to still be asleep, beckoned and enticed her as a simple and desirable solution- she could wait until they had all left the house before getting up, and avoid encountering anyone. She could keep completely separate hours to the rest of them, spending as little time with them as possible until she could find a place of her own and get away, she could…

_Oh, who are you foolin', love?_ Her mind admonished her. This was possibly the most ridiculous, childish plan she'd ever thought of- how long could she realistically keep that up? How long was she supposed to hide in bed for? It could be hours before every last Boswell went out- that was providing they went at all- and she couldn't waste all day waiting for that to happen. Like it or not, she had a job to go to, which meant she would have to get up and out sooner rather than later. And like it or not, if she wanted to _eat_, she had a feeling she'd have to observe set meal times. Staying away from the Boswells whilst inside their _home_ was like trying to draw a square circle- she would never be able to accomplish it.

Martina indulged in another self-pitying groan and reluctantly inched the covers off herself.

'Rise and shine, sweetheart!'

Martina shrieked, Joey's sudden appearance in her room startling and infuriating her. She sat up in haste, clutching the bedclothes to herself.

'The common courtesy would've been ter knock!' she gave him her nastiest look, unsure just how well she pulled it off while her face was still somewhat softened from sleep.

'House rule, sunshine,' Joey said, annoyingly cheery for whatever time this was. 'Don't have to.'

'Oh, really? What sort o' house rule is that?' She cocked her head to one side. 'A made-up one?'

'Oh, never mind about all that,' Joey said dismissively, breaking several more rules of propriety by crossing the room and sitting on the edge of her bed.

'Doesn't privacy mean anythin' in this family?'

'Seein' as this isn't _technically_ your room, and you're not payin' any rent for it, I don't think you're in any position to complain.'

'Well, as soon as I've got some money together I'll be in the position to give yer rent-free room back, so don't start that with me.'

Joey just shook his head. 'Will madam be joinin' us for breakfast?'

'Got no choice, I suppose.'

'Nice and grateful, that.' Joey still sounded happy enough, but there was an edge to his words Martina couldn't miss.

She bristled. Who was he to get on his high horse about _grateful?_ Who had asked him to turn her into a charity case anyway? Her pride had been stabbed with about a hundred arrows already, and she didn't need constant reminders about how she now owed her enemies for all eternity. But then again, if Joey Boswell hadn't stepped in when he had, she could well be on the street, or living in a cardboard box under a bridge somewhere. Pride or no pride, she had no option but to be grateful. Even if she didn't like Joey, even if the whole Boswell tribe made her shudder and retch, they had taken her in when she had nowhere to turn to.

'_Sorry_,' she muttered, flopping back against her pillow. '_Thank_ you.'

'Didn't hurt so much, that, did it? And you're welcome, sweetheart,' Joey grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back into a sitting position. 'Now come on- no more lazin' about or we'll run out o' food before you get there. If you want a bath now, I can go in and kick Billy out o' there for you.'

Martina got a sudden, and rather horrible image of Billy being 'kicked out' mid-bath. She wasn't sure exactly how Joey would go about doing something like that, but the possible end result her mind had conjured up wasn't something she particularly wanted to see.

'No, no, don't…' _bother_ was on the tip of her tongue, 'go to all that trouble. I'll 'ave one this evenin' instead.'

'Your choice, sunshine. Your choice.'

Martina didn't like the look on his face. Judging by the way her new landlord—if that was what category Joey Boswell now fell into—had responded, she'd clearly made an unfortunate decision. The DHSS lady was already beginning to dread whatever bathroom battles took place in the evenings in this madhouse. For a moment the thought flashed across her mind to ask, but by the time she had formulated something vaguely resembling a sensible question, Joey had already released her shoulders and was mercifully heading back towards the door.

'I'll leave you to get up and dressed in peace, then. Don't take too long, now.' And then he was gone, his voice sounding a few seconds later on the landing as he told Adrian off for something that had apparently just happened.

Her head swimming with Boswell voices, the smell of Boswell perfume and the feel of Boswell blankets, and the sense that her life was going to be utterly immersed in Boswellness for the foreseeable future, Martina climbed slowly out of bed and examined herself in the full-length mirror on the wall.

Oh, _wonderful_. Just the perfect start to the perfect day, wasn't it? In her exhaustion last night, both physical and mental, and her overwhelming desire to sleep, she had neglected to brush her hair or remove her makeup before going to bed. The result of such a mistake stared out of the mirror at her now- a mess of blue smudges above her eyes and down the sides of her face, and hair that still bounced on one side and had been completely flattened on the other. She looked frightful.

And Joey Boswell had seen her like this.

The overwhelming urge to go back to bed and hide there returned full force.

* * *

><p>'Mornin', sunshines of my life!' Joey grinned, and was met with a groan from the other members of the family. 'And how are we all on this fine day?'<p>

'Tired,' Nellie mumbled.

'_Distraught_,' Adrian said dramatically.

'Julie's been-'

'_Anyway_,' Joey said, cutting Billy off before his rant could take up the entire morning and push his own planned speech out of the schedule altogether, 'I think we need to all have a private word before Martina comes down.'

'Is she leavin'?' asked Billy.

'No,' Joey raised his eyes towards the ceiling, 'we—'

'I couldn't sleep last night,' Nellie said, 'thinking about _her_ in my Aveline's…'

'We—' Joey pushed in, determined to get this out before the rest of Nellie's complaint surfaced.

'I must say, I found it quite difficult to as well,' chimed in Adrian, 'after all, with her here, my confidence is—'

'Aveline's room, 'angin' by a thread, yes, okay, points taken,' Joey said, hastily waving away the comments. 'Look, this is uncomfortable for all of us, I know. It'll take some gettin' used to. Most of all for Martina. Now, she's been through a difficult patch, and…'

'_I'm _goin' through a difficult patch,' Billy insisted.

'_And_, this whole experience is really takin' a toll on her. Now I would greatly appreciate it if—just for a little while, at least!—we could all try to be considerate to 'er. Okay?'

_'__Considerate?'_ Adrian blanched. 'You're askin' us to be considerate?! To _her?!_'

'Yes, son. I'm aware it might be a new concept for some of us,' Joey couldn't help glancing over at Billy, 'but it's somethin' we need to start doin'. The sooner Martina gets settled in and we all get used to havin' her around, the easier this will be. And it won't happen if we keep _antagonisin' 'er,_' a quick look at Nellie, '_recitin' insultin' poetry_,' this warning look was bestowed on Adrian, 'or _generally bein' daft.'_ The third look went to Billy.

'Okay?'

'I was not antagonising!' Nellie snapped. 'But if that girl makes snide, sarcastic comments like a cheeky little madam, I can't be blamed for defending myself! If she were mine…'

'If she were yours, she wouldn't have suffered so much,' Joey insisted. 'Mam, she's 'ad an 'ard life. You know what that's l- well, don't worry about that. Anyway, look, the point is, it's been a bit of an up-and-down year for 'er, and the way she speaks to people…it's a reaction, isn't it? She doesn't know how to cope. So we've got to be supportive, okay, and be nice to her until she feels accepted. Okay?'

There was a bit of a ponderous silence as the others mulled Joey's proposition over.

'She speaks to everyone like…' Billy began, but Joey glared the rest of his sentence into oblivion.

'Well…' Nellie began.

'I'll 'ave a word with 'er, too, about bein' considerate in return. It'll all be fine, all right?' Another silence. '_All right?'_

'All right,' mumbled the others, and Joey, still not entirely satisfied but conceding that their response would have to do, sat down at the kitchen table and hoped this breakfast would run more smoothly than last night's meal.

* * *

><p>It took every ounce of Martina's willpower to drag her clothes on, drag a brush through her hair and drag herself down the stairs toward the kitchen. Her heart thumped in her ears with every step she took. She gritted her teeth, clashing them together so hard a shiver ran down her spine.<p>

Nothing could get her in the right mindframe for this breakfast. If dinner last night had been any indicator of how life with the Boswells was going to be, then there was nothing that would make this upcoming meal bearable. And on top of all that, she was then going to have to pull herself together and go to work, dealing with Boswell-esque people and trying to forget that, outside her work hours, she was _living_ with the very people she spent her professional life trying to thwart.

This had to be some sort of nightmare.

It was a childish thing to do, but Martina pinched herself in the arm all the same.

No, not a nightmare. A real-world situation. A _nightmarish_, but nonetheless, _real_ real-world situation.

Well, she had to go down there _sometime_, she supposed—as appealing as it sounded, climbing out the window to escape would probably result in some lacerations or a broken limb, and while sneaking out as fast as she possibly could had its merits, the unfortunate fact remained that Martina was, and couldn't help being, _incredibly hungry._

And when one was incredibly hungry, had lived off minimal, and barely edible, powdered food for the past few weeks, and had barely eaten anything the previous night out of sheer nerves, and when the smell of bacon was starting to waft up from downstairs and pervade one's senses, one's hedonistic needs tended to boot any apprehensions out of one's head.

Martina stepped into the kitchen, swallowing as four heads turned towards her. At least, she noted with only a small degree of relief, it could be worse. The entire lot of Boswells could be here—there was another brother, the one whose name she could never remember, who was now for some reason overseas, a sister, whose room she had been moved into, Grandad next door, the friendly but erratic father who had dropped in the other day… she could live through a meal with four of them, when she thought about it that way. She had to, anyhow.

'Mornin', sweetheart,' Joey said cheerfully. Nothing ever seemed to faze him. It didn't matter that the rest of the family were doing a very awkward imitation of normal, Joey just casually rode through the uncomfortable moment acting so very…Joey-ish.

'Oh, yeah!' Billy's head snapped up. 'Mornin', Martina…er, you can sit 'ere if you…'

Joey's face flicked immediately into a glare, which he turned upon his youngest brother.

'No need to go that far, son. She's got a seat.'

Billy, who'd started to rise, plonked himself back into the seat. Martina, finding her anxiety had crept back up on her again, maladroitly manoeuvred herself around the table, taking up her place. Adrian shuffled his chair aside, either in a polite gesture, to let her in better, or in a pathetic attempt to get away from her. Knowing just how scared of her he was, she'd bank on the latter.

'Prayers,' said Nellie. At once, the Boswells put down everything they were holding and touched their hands together. Martina sat back in her chair, unsure whether it would be polite to join in

The Boswell matriarch Crossed herself and then stared at Martina.

'Er,' Martina I began.

'We're _praying_.'

'I'm—' Martina began, _Lutheran_ the next word on her tongue. She saw Joey's eyes widen, and he made a surreptitious cut-throat gesture. 'Ready,' she finished instead, putting her hands together. Nellie gave a self-gratifying smirk (Joey Boswell had certainly gotten that from somewhere) and began a very dramatic prayer.

'We thank Thee, O Father,' she began, sounding rather like she should be at a pulpit in a white robe rather than sitting at a kitchen table, 'for the food, our health…and our lives.'

_Bit over-the-top_. She suspected that comment was somehow directed at her. In the short time she'd known her, Martina had come to realise that Nellie Boswell seemed to take every incident, every little change, every little disturbance on her radar as a catastrophic, life-or-death situation. (_Billy_ Boswell had certainly gotten that from somewhere.) She resolved to ignore the comment for now, if only to give herself a bit of peace.

'Give us good health, and keep us from all which might do us harm….'

_And get me out of here,_ Martina added silently.

'Amen.'

The word had barely been uttered and Billy was grabbing at toast and shovelling everything in sight on the table onto his plate.

'Oh, for goodness' sake, Billy, there are other people who—' Adrian's rant had surprised, and slightly entertained Martina, and she was a little disappointed when it suddenly cut off, he seemingly remembered her existence and fell silent.

'You are allowed ter speak, you know,' she snorted. 'I 'aven't placed a ban on it.'

'Oh,' Adrian half-jumped out of his seat. 'Yes. Of…course.'

Martina's mouth curved. This could keep her going—if nothing else about being in the Boswell house was pleasant, she could at least get her kicks watching Adrian panic whenever she opened her mouth.

The poet-artist looked across the table, and Martina saw Joey jerk his head in her direction. She would have leaned forward to glare at him, and mouth a demand of some form of explanation, but before she could do so, Adrian, his whole body trembling slightly, had turned towards her.

'So…Martina…'

She arched one eyebrow. 'Yes?'

Adrian froze, one hand half-raised as if to gesticulate.

Martina assumed an innocent expression. 'Yes?'

Adrian blinked, looking more disoriented than he ever had, and that was saying something when he was unsure of himself seventy per cent of the time in the DHSS.

'I was just…I was just tryin' to make conversation…I hadn't come up with anything after that.' He laughed nervously.

'And ter think, you're a poet as well….'

Billy laughed rather raucously at this comment, and Martina was more than a little astounded at having caused this reaction. She'd actually said something that went down well with this lot…or at least some of them. At least one of them.

_Well, then. _

Adrian paled as he spoke again. 'Er…how are you?'

Martina tried not to snicker at his attempt to save himself, and at the same time tried not to let the blood rush from her head at the thought that the Boswells were trying to be _nice_ to her. She didn't know what to think of that. On the one hand, it was expected, of course—they'd have to, for everyone's sakes, and probably in a hope that by buttering her up she wouldn't report anything she might find to the authorities (she still would, though. She had a certain level of integrity to uphold, and any opportunity that presented itself was just too good to pass up.) On the other, it was almost…almost lovely, that they were making even a little effort to accept her.

'You've 'ad an 'ard life, 'aven't you?'

The lovely thought disappeared as the words left Billy's mouth.

'Excuse me?'

'Billy,' Joey said quietly.

'Eh! I was just tryin' to consider 'er…'

'That's not exactly what bein' considerate entails, son…'

Oh. Something inside Martina fell. Joey had _instructed_ them to be nice to her. It didn't matter, of course. She didn't even _like_ the Boswells. She didn't even _want_ to be there. She didn't care if they liked her or not. But still, the idea that they might have been a little bit kind to her of their own free will wouldn't have hurt… She couldn't remember anyone being kind to her of their own free will since Shifty, and he was lying.

No, that wasn't right. Joey had allowed her to live here, after all. And, torturous as it might prove to be, it still counted as an act of kindness.

She forced her thoughts in a different direction, and noticed, as Adrian timidly passed a serving dish towards her, that rather a large amount of food was being made available to her. A large amount of real, non-Pot Noodle food. And she remembered she was bloody ravenous.

She applied herself vigorously to filling her plate, then allowed herself to fall upon the food.

Billy squinted at her. 'You eat very fast.'

'Listen who's talkin',' Adrian snorted.

Martina jumped, realising she might be coming across as a little uncivilised. She forced herself to slow down, swallowing the rather large amount in her mouth and then restraining herself from applying her fork to her plate again.

'Leave 'er, the pair o' you,' Joey chided.

Martina sighed in relief.

'Mind you, he's quite right,' Joey added. 'Martina, no-one is gonna take that food off you, you know.'

'Although once Billy goes back for seconds there'll- ouch!' Adrian was stopped mid-flow by what sounded suspiciously like Joey stomping on his foot.

'So,' the eldest Boswell continued, 'you might as well actually let yourself taste it, sweetheart. That, and stop yourself gettin' indigestion.'

'I had that once,' Billy said.

_Yes, I'm sure you did_.

'Julie gave me Bismuth, and…'

'Billy,' Joey said, 'that's not the point.'

Martina resisted the urge to roll her eyes and forced herself to slow her eating down a frame or two. She could all but feel Nellie glaring at her. You'd think the woman would be pleased someone enjoyed her cooking…still, she supposed she'd better try and show some manners. It wasn't going to get her anywhere, making an enemy of the Boswell matriarch. Martina had no gripe against _her, _anyway, despite how hostile she'd been thus far. She was just trying to keep her children (her wicked, devious, scrounging children) fed, after all, and keep her household running smoothly despite interruptions, and that in itself was commendable.

'Sorry,' she muttered.

'No, don't be sorry,' Joey pushed his plate away and dramatically flicked open a newspaper.

'Shifty starved you, didn't he?'

'BILLY!'

Billy's intrusiveness was…a little annoying, though she'd be lying to say it was unexpected. He wasn't much different in this setting to the way he was when she encountered him at work. Predictable, at least, though the mention of Shifty stung…

'Well, then,' she said, 'I'd better be off ter work.'

'I'll take you,' Joey slapped his paper down. 'I'm down that way—must make sure I get you there so I can claim off you, mustn't I, sweetheart?'

Martina narrowed her eyes at him.

'Oh, yeah,' Billy, his mouth stuffed with what must have been his fifth or sixth slice of toast, turned to face her, and Martina was somewhat thankful Adrian was sitting in between them, a human buffer for all the crumbs that sprayed out when the youngest Boswell talked, 'I'm down there, too. I've got a business plan.'

_'__Goody.'_

'I think you'll like it—it's gonna make me totally independent!' Billy said smugly. The others looked at him dubiously, and Martina was inclined to do the same.

'Well,' _I'll believe that when I see it, '_you can tell me about it later,' she said instead.

'Come along, then,' Joey lightly tapped the table as he got to his feet. 'Off to the woods we go!'

Martina drained the rest of her coffee and hastened to stand up.

'What about—' she gestured to her empty plate.

'Oh, don't sweat about that, it's all taken care of. Come on, you don't want to be late, now, do you?'

Martina took a hesitant step, then looked back at her plate and cup. No, that didn't sit right with her. The image of them burned on her brain, even when she blinked. She wasn't exactly a fastidiously tidy person by nature (though her flat had always had to be broadly liveable, and Shifty had often trashed it so it went right over that line between tolerable and terrible, provoking her wrath) but it was bad enough her living her rent-free without having a family she loathed cleaning up after her. She would ensure she pulled her own weight and fix up her own messes, if only to preserve what little dignity she had left.

'No, I can't just…' she leaned back down and grabbed her used crockery, shoving it in the sink Nellie had already filled with soapy water and giving it all a quick wash.

The Boswells stared at her, astounded.

'All right, I'm ready.' She headed back over to Joey, whose face seemed to have been frozen into a strange expression. 'Well, are we goin' or aren't we?'

Joey stood frozen for a little longer, then blinked ferociously. 'Yeah,' he said, still blinking, 'yeah, yeah, course we are. Come on.'

'I'll see yer,' Billy said, coming out of his own coma and attacking the breakfast again. 'when I talk about me business idea.'

'Somethin' to look forward to,' Martina said, keeping her voice down in the hope that Nellie wouldn't notice she'd made another sarcastic remark.

'Martina!' Too late. The DHSS lady turned back around, wondering whether it would be worth rebutting whatever Nellie had to say to her as a warmup to the verbal battles she was going to have to face at work today anyway, or if it might be better not to rock the boat.

'Yes?'

Nellie was peering at her as though taking an intense set of mental notes. 'What prompted you to wash those dishes?'

_Oh, well, forgive me fer thinkin' that's what you did with dirty dishes, it's a bad habit I picked up, cleanin' them…_

'I was…I just…' was what actually came out of her mouth. No sarky comment. Not even a proper sentence. 'I just didn't…want ter leave them…I…' If there was some sort of house rule that meant only Nellie was allowed to touch the dishes, she was going to break something in frustration.

'Well, whatever it was,' Nellie had a curious smile on her face, 'p'raps you can teach it to this lot.'

Martina found herself smiling back, and the smile stayed on her face as she followed Joey out the front door.

She'd done something right, and that was something to be pleased about, at least.

* * *

><p><strong>Yeah, I'm not sure exactly why Martina is Lutheran in this particular fic, but in this non-Money-Angel-non-ATEOTD universe I have decided she is a Proddy. Sorry, Nellie.<strong> **You can't win 'em all. **


	9. Sago Pudding Sandwiches

**Publishing a day early than planned, but I just officially handed in my last take-home exam so I am now done with uni for the rest of the year! So I am rather stoked about that. Freedom until March, hurrah! Anyhow, no-one wants to hear my life story, so, without much further ado, on with the chapter. This one follows directly on from Ch8 with no time jump.**

* * *

><p><strong>9<br>Sago pudding sandwiches**

'Right, then,' Joey pulled the front door shut behind him and starting down the street towards his car, 'first mornin' done! How you feelin' sunshine?'

'Mister Boswell, I'm livin' in your 'ouse, not undergoin' major surgery. You don't 'ave ter ask that.'

Joey paused in the middle of unlocking his Jag, and then turned to face her, placing a hand on each of Martina's shoulders.

'Now, Martina,' he said, gazing upon her as if to give her either a dull lecture or a stern ticking-off, 'as you well know, you are livin' in the Boswell residence.'

'Or, accordin' to the paperwork, the _Duvall_ residence, which the Boswells rent,' she couldn't help herself, 'while yer Grandad lives in the _actual _Boswell residence…'

'Not the point,' Joey tutted. 'There will be plenty of time to 'ave a fight about our monetary situation later—one I would most certainly win.'

Martina rolled her eyes.

'But in the meantime, we should probably go through some things that will make your life easier. Now,' his voice had taken on a slightly patronising tone, and Martina didn't like it, 'you are livin' in a house with _three_ Mister Boswells, a fourth expected home very soon, not to mention a Mrs. Boswell, a fifth Mister Boswell who occasionally drops in to liven things up…' she assumed this meant their father, who had certainly altered the atmosphere at dinner last night, 'and a Grandad. You can't call us all a variation of the same thing, now, can you? It'll get very confusin' if you say _Mister Boswell_ and three, four or even five people look up.'

Martina sighed. 'I think I know where you're goin' with this.'

'Now, for starters, _I,' _he removed his hands from her and placed one on his chest, 'am _Jo-ey._'

'All right, all right. Point taken.'

But Joey was smirking and reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a black wallet (real leather, of course, and another thing the purchase of which she'd have to investigate), extracting from its depths a small collection of photos.

'_This…' _he flicked his way through the pile, pulling out a rather awful passport photo of his youngest brother and holding it up in front of Martina's face, 'is _Bil-ly._'

'I get it!'

'And this one here is _A-dri-an…_'

'I do actually know yer first names…'

'This one, whom you probably haven't seen for a while, is called _Jack_, and…'

'I KNOW ALL YER NAMES!' Martina snatched the photos away from him, seething. 'You don't 'ave ter _drag_ this out forever! I'll use yer first names in the 'ouse.' She hissed out a breath. 'You could've said so in '_alf_ as many words.'

'Ah, but where would be the fun in that?'

The DHSS lady felt a headache coming on. 'Is this 'ow my life's gonna be from now on? You takin' the mickey out o 'me _all day, every day?_'

'You mean me bein' tremendously witty? I should imagine so.' Joey finally went back to unlocking his car, and held the passenger door open for her. 'Now, will you relinquish my photographs, please?'

For a moment Martina was sorely tempted to keep hold of them. She weighed up the pros and cons in her mind. She really should be acting a bit more politely towards the man who had saved her from poverty…and yet, he had just annoyed her beyond belief, and it wasn't even nine in the morning yet.

'No,' she said, making a meal out of slowly opening her handbag and depositing them inside it. 'These are confiscated, Mister…sorry, _Joey_ Boswell. Too bad.'

Joey looked as though he couldn't decide whether to laugh or be shocked.

'You're confiscatin' me photos?'

'Until further notice.' Martina did her handbag up and held it primly between her hands. 'Just to ensure you make no more efforts to humiliate me.'

'Oh, but _Martina_,' Joey's eyes were getting a naughty glimmer about them, 'you see, the trouble with that plan is…I don't actually _need_ those photos. I could have them replaced like _that_.' He clicked his fingers.

'Whereas humiliating _you_, priceless thing that it is…'

'Well, all right,' Martina said, 'I'll just keep these, then.'

'As you wish,' he began to step aside to allow her access to the car. 'As you—'

'—Eh!' She whirled around, catching him mid-lunge for her handbag. 'Did you honestly think, Mis-Joey, that I was as gullible as ter fall fer that?'

'No, no, you're not gullible, of course not,' Joey clucked, 'I merely thought my amazin' agility would be in my favour…'

'Evidently, mine surpasses the great Joey Boswell's…' Martina was beginning to enjoy this moment. She had the upper hand on him, for once, and she was going to savour it. 'Now, if you'll kindly let me into the car undisturbed, and _without_ resortin' to bag-snatchin', we might make some progress towards _getting' to the DHSS_?'

Joey gave a little bow, (_'that's another hour without yer photos_,' Martina informed him) and stood right back, allowing her proper access to the passenger seat.

'Eh! Joey Boswell!'

Martina had no sooner gotten in the car than the door of the house directly in front of them swung open, and an oddly familiar woman with a head of peroxide-blonde hair stepped out into the street, arms akimbo.

'Ah! Celia! Greetings!' A shadow seemed to creep over Joey's face, but the leader of the little Boswells did his usual job of grinning and looking totally unfazed. 'And how does this fine morning find you, my dear friend?'

'I'd be better if my house didn't have a Jag in front of it.'

'Well, well, we can't have everything we want, can we?' He shrugged nonchalantly. 'Oh, have you met Martina, by the way?'

The woman's fox-like face took on a strange expression. 'Oh, yeah, Shifty's new squeeze—haven't I seen you before?'

'I'm not his—' Martina began, then stopped. Now that she mentioned it, she was certain this woman, leaning over the still-open car door, was someone she had encountered quite recently. An image came back to her of washing windows, of rubber gloves into which were placed a gold brooch and a letter addressed to Shifty.

'Yes,' Martina said, the delight in her voice perhaps a bit excessive, but born of a strange sort of relief at seeing someone she knew who wasn't a Boswell. 'Yes, we 'ave!'

The woman seemed a lot more amiable now. 'Oh, that's right! You came here to hand 'is brooch back, didn't you, love? When they were all out?'

'That's right,' Martina nodded. She'd said this woman could read her rather passionately hateful epistle, and had left it with her not knowing whether she'd done so or not.

'Took it back, then, did you?' There was a strange, knowing sympathy in the other woman's eyes now.

She made a face. 'After about a week.'

That was all it had taken—a week, a blatantly insincere apology and him making good on moving in, and she had let his deceitful behaviour over the lies about his Grandad go. Thinking about it in retrospect made Martina cringe at just how naïve she'd let herself be, how desperate she'd been for him to have been a better man than he was, for her to allow such an enormous lapse in her common sense.

'Shifty does have that way with him,' the other woman said, as if having read her mind, and Martina sensed there was something she would dearly have liked to say but was holding back on. The blonde sighed, shook her head and held her hand out.

'Celia Higgins. I'm your new neighbour, then, I suppose.'

'Martina,' she returned, shaking it. 'And I can't tell yer how glad I am to meet _someone_ sane around 'ere.'

'_I'm _sane,' Joey interrupted.

Celia turned to him. 'I'm not sure I can agree with that, Joey. Sane people are able to comprehend the difference between their _own_ parking space and _someone else's.'_

Martina looked from one to the other, amused.

'You haven't got a car anymore!' insisted Joey.

'But I _might_ have had!'

'As I have explained before, the Jag has had this space before you moved here. It's perfectly _sane_ reasoning, therefore, to conclude that it has a right to be there still.'

'That makes _no_ sense whatsoever!'

'_Anyway_,' Joey said, just as Celia's face was beginning to redden, 'I'd love to stay and chat with you, sunshine, but I've got to get lovely Martina here to work.'

'_About time_,' muttered Martina.

'But when I return…'

'You can park outside Number Thirty, or Number Twenty-Eight,' Celia said, 'those bein' the houses that are actually your property.'

'Or Thirty-Two,' Joey added cheekily, and Celia's eyes narrowed.

'Lovely to see you again, Martina,' she said, sending a very deliberate smile in Martina's direction, and then a very deliberate scowl in Joey's, '_you_, not so much.'

She turned and went back inside her house, and Joey _finally_ shut Martina's door and got into the car himself.

'She'll learn,' he said as he pulled out into the street, 'she'll learn.'

'I like her,' Martina said.

'Oh, yes?'

'It's nice ter think I've finally found another person who's impervious ter your pathetic attempts at charm. I thought I was the only one in the world…'

'I am charmin', rather,' Joey mused.

Martina folded her arms. 'That's not the message you were meant to take from this.'

'But it is an undeniable truth.'

She gave up trying to lecture him. 'Just drive,' she said, turning to face the window. 'And let me warn you, if you want yer photos back, you're goin' very much the wrong way about it.'

* * *

><p>Joey's conversations with Martina and Celia had held him up much longer than he'd expected, and by the time they neared the DHSS, Martina was coming dangerously close to being late.<p>

The closer they came, the more she began to fidget in her seat, complain that he was driving too slowly, then too recklessly, and to chide him for chatting up the neighbours and holding her up. When he finally did pull up outside the building, and Martina sprang from the car like a jack-in-the-box, Joey was quite relieved to see the back of her.

'One of us'll come and pick you up!' he called after her, but she was running up the stairs and away from him so fast he couldn't be sure she'd heard.

For a while after she'd gone, Joey sat back in his seat, just thinking about the past couple of days, about his Mam missing Aveline and the strange phone calls she was getting, about Billy and Adrian, about Celia, Shifty, Martina.

So far, so…not too bad.

Martina could be integrated into their household; of that he was sure. It may take some time, some effort and a little bickering, but given the snippets of evidence he'd seen this morning, he was convinced it was feasible. He dusted his hands off. What was next on the agenda, then? Tracking down Jack, perhaps, and finding out just what was taking him so long to get on a plane and get himself home. Getting Aveline round, so his Mam could be cured of missing her. Getting Billy some sort of assistance in terms of his divorce, or seeing how long Shifty was incarcerated for this time, and determining whether it would be in anyone's best interests to let him move back into Grandad's when he came up for parole.

He mulled over each option in turn, and then leaned forward and rested his head against the steering wheel.

Where did his life come, priority-wise? When did he sort out what he wanted? What was there that could actually _be_ sorted, though?

It had been three days since he'd last attempted to call Roxy, and it had been fairly clear that they'd hit an enormous stumbling-block, one they couldn't simply work through. Granted, talking to his Mam on the phone during their romantic tryst had not been one of his brightest ideas, but despite his attempts to explain himself, it had thrown what they had over a line he wasn't sure they could get back behind.

Roxy had said she wanted nothing more to do with him. And even if she did change her mind about that, she would hold this over his head forever, and use it to drive him into whatever corner she wanted—such was her nature. It would be better all-round if he just called it a day with Roxy and stuck to it, but it was so hard when she still took up so much space in his mind, when he was having so much trouble letting go of the few good times, despite the mountain of bad memories that outweighed them. He couldn't get over her alone.

Joey leaned back against his seat again and bit his lip. Much as he liked being the one who people could turn to for help, Joey Boswell had to admit that this time, he was in need of assistance. Maybe it was about time he got himself some professional help. He shuddered at the thought. It would ruin his image if it got out. But then again, he was a master of secrecy—if anyone could keep something like this hidden, it was him. They still didn't know what he did for work, after all.

And for a few moments of awkwardness, he could hopefully come through this Roxy-related torment and be able to take better care of his family. The more Joey thought about it, the more logical a step it seemed. Well, that was that, then. He'd go and find himself a counsellor.

And then finally—hopefully—he could move on with his life.

* * *

><p>'Number thirty-four!' called Martina.<p>

The motley collection of clients waiting to be seen to all looked at each other, then at the floor.

'Thirty-four?' Martina called again.

Nobody moved.

'Ex_cuse_ me,' she said. 'Could you check yer tickets, please? Who's thirty-four?'

'I've got forty-seven!' piped up a hopeful middle-aged woman.

'Well, that's no good to me, is it?' Martina replied in a condescending tone. 'Because I'm not _servin'_ forty-seven, am I? I want thirty-four!'

The woman, who'd clearly been trying to sneak her way into being served early, scowled and began muttering under her breath.

'Right,' said Martina, 'if number thirty-four doesn't show up in the next ten seconds, I'm movin' on.'

As if timed for deliberate comedic effect, the doors flew open at that exact moment, and a dishevelled-looking Billy Boswell stumbled in, causing everyone's heads to turn towards him.

'Am I too late?' he garbled, clumping towards the counters and either ignoring or not noticing that the entire room was staring at him. 'Only I got me ticket, see, but then I had to duck out 'cause me soon-to-be-ex-wife asked me to…well, I have lots to do, don't I? But anyway, I'm back now, and…' he waved his ticket about, and Martina caught sight of the 3-4 printed on it as it flashed past.

'Mister Boswell,' she said.

'And I tried to be back before…'

'_Billy_,' she hissed, getting his attention at last, 'over 'ere.'

Billy ambled over and deposited himself in the seat in front of her desk.

'Oh, hi, Martina,' he said, already speaking with more familiarity than Martina would have liked, considering she'd only been with the Boswells one day, 'I was 'opin' I'd get you.'

Martina put a lid on a frustrated sigh.

'I'm not doin' you any favours, Billy, I'm warnin' you now. I might live in the same house as you, but when I am at work, you are not my housemate, you are my _client_, and I will act no differently towards you than to anyone else, is that understood? And the same goes fer yer brothers.'

'Well, yeah,' said Billy, looking as if he didn't understand at all, 'but I was telling you about me business plan, remember?'

'Oh, yes,' Martina said, shuddering. 'I remember. Go on, then. What is this business plan?'

Billy leaned in closer. 'I'm gonna get an office.'

He leaned back again, nodding to himself.

Martina stared blankly at him.

'And?'

'Well, that's me plan, innit? To get an office!'

'And…this is a business plan…how?'

'Well, it's a plan. And it's for me business.'

Martina couldn't help feeling sorry for him at times. He hadn't a clue about life. If it weren't for his family picking him up every time he fell own, she was quite sure he'd have starved to death by now. Not that she should really care all that much…

'Billy,' she was already getting into the habit of using the Boswells' first names in the DHSS, and that did not bode well, 'how is havin' an office gonna assist you in yer business?'

'It's always good to have an office!'

Martina clasped her hands together and set them down on the counter.

'You sell _sandwiches_. An office wouldn't do anythin' fer you other than cost yer- you'd 'ave ter rent one, you know, and…' Martina stopped short. 'Ah, so _that's_ it. You want an office you won't use so you can claim fer rentin' an office space for yer business.'

She tutted. 'Did your _Joey_ help you think up that little _gem_?'

Billy furrowed his brow, affronted. 'No, I just wanted an office! I wanna be successful, so Julie will like me again! I was gonna 'ave your room until…well, until you got it…but I've thought of summat else.'

'Oh, yeah? What, then?'

Billy just grinned. 'I'll show you when you get home.'

Martina resolved to work late.

'Well, you can show me if you like, but an office is not essential to your…'

The phone at Martina's desk chose this moment to ring, pulling her out of the annoying conversation.

'Excuse me,' she said, trying to make it seem she was less relieved to be receiving a phone call thatn she was. 'Hello, extension 647?'

'Martina!' Nellie Boswell barked down the line. 'It's nearly one o'clock!'

Martina, calm person though she always tried to be, jumped out of her skin.

How on earth did she have this phone number? It was probably something to do with Joey, the fact that the Boswells' mother had the number for her exact extension and didn't just get put through the system to the next available operative, though she didn't bother to wonder how Joey had the number. She'd given up wondering how Joey knew anything.

'Yes,' she said, stunned and unable to say much. 'I know.'

'Well, are you coming home for lunch or aren't you?!' Nellie demanded.

_Oh_.

'I hadn't… er, I 'adn't really thought o' that.' Truth was, Martina hadn't thought about lunch at all. She'd been so desperate to simply get out of the house and go to work, she hadn't considered getting anything to take with her. It would waste some of the precious little money she currently had to go and buy something in her break, but she found she didn't want to go down to Kelsall Street to eat. Not in the middle of the time she had _away_ from that place.

'_Weeell,_ you'd better think about it, _hadn't you_?' snapped Nellie. 'I don't cater to everyone's passing _whims_. And I need to know how many for lunch today!'

'Er… I won't today…' Martina ventured, 'but…er…p'raps tomorrer.'

'_Thank_ you,' said Nellie, in a tone almost as sarcastic as Martina herself was capable of being, and hung up on her.

Martina sat back in her seat, overcome.

Were the Boswells going to invade every single facet of her life forever?

'What was that?' Billy asked.

'Your mother,' she said, 'was askin' if I was goin' back…' she couldn't quite bring herself to say _home_—it didn't feel like one—'fer lunch.'

'And are you?'

Martina shook her head.

Billy's face lit up. 'Well that's all right; I've got me sandwich van parked round the front. I'll let you 'ave one for free today. It was sago puddin' you liked in yours, wasn't it?'

'No, Billy—' Martina began, but the youngest Boswell had already gotten up from his seat and sprinted for the door.

Martina slumped forward, resting her chin on her hand. When she'd sneaked up to his van and asked for a pudding sandwich, she'd only been joking, trying to catch him out and coming up with the most ridiculous flavour she could think of to see just how far he was willing to go with his new business. She hadn't expected him to take her suggestion seriously and actually _make_ a sago pudding sandwich, let alone try to make her eat it.

She groaned and transferred her head from her hand to the desk.

Ugh. _Boswells_. There was no understanding them.


	10. Death By Billy

**Yeah, I'm sorry how ridiculous Billy is getting in this fic, but I get carried away where he is concerned. His ridiculous plans will have a point, I promise. Anyhow, enjoy the chapter. Also, I've nearly finished the first of the Christmas fics I plan to do, so expect it on December 1st, all things going well. **

* * *

><p><strong>10<strong>

**Death By Billy**

Joey had looked into it, he had found the address and phone number of a good counselling service, and now he was outside the building, waiting by the side of the road in his Jag and trying to work up the courage to go in there and make an appointment.

_Pull yourself together, son,_ he told himself, _there's no shame in this. It's for your own good._

He gritted his teeth, bit his lip and forced himself out of the car.

'Joey!'

Of course the worst had to happen.

Two people Joey was never pleased to see, even at the best of times, were standing on the pavement just a few metres behind where he was parked, slouching against a wall and leering at him.

'Joey Boswell!' repeated the man who'd spoken, and took a step forward.

'Ah. Greetings,' Joey couldn't force himself to sound enthusiastic—it was enough of a strain to keep himself from letting his anger show. 'Fancy seein' you gentlemen here.'

'I said to meself, didn't I, Yizzel?' said the first man, coming closer and clapping Joey on the shoulder, 'I said, _that looks like someone we know, don't it, Yizzel?_'

'Yeh,' said his companion, coming to join them, 'you did say, gov. I was there. I remember.'

'Y-eah…' said Yizzel's mate, giving him an impatient look, '_anyway_, thought we'd come over, see what a man like Joey Boswell was doin' down 'ere.'

Joey's eyes darted towards the buildings before he could stop himself, and he hoped to Heaven they didn't cotton on to the fact that he might be trying to visit a counsellor.

'Not his sort of place, Yizzel.'

'Nah, Joey Boswell doesn't go to shops, does he?'

Yizzel's mate gawped at him, exasperated. 'What kinda answer is that?'

'Well you said, gov, that you wondered what a man like 'im was doin' down 'ere…'

'I meant this part o' town, Yizzel! It's not a place he frequents, is it?'

'Is it?'

'For God's sake, Yizzel! Anyone would think you didn't know how ter _think!'_

'Well you didn't tell me what to say…'

Joey tuned out of their argument, turning away from the pair of them and sighing in frustration. He'd wanted to get one simple task done, and it seemed like that wasn't going to happen now. Yizzel and his mate wouldn't let him slip into the building unnoticed, and he couldn't simply go into one of the adjoining shops and hide out until they'd gone, however many hours that might take. That was, if they hadn't wanted to get his attention because they wanted something, in which case they certainly wouldn't simply let him go into one of the shops without following him and hounding him.

Which meant, unfortunately, he wouldn't be able to make his appointment today. He lightly kicked the wheel of his Jag (immediately relenting and feeling tempted to mutter an apology to it) and got back in as quickly as he could.

'Eh!' the others stopped their bickering as they heard the door slam. 'We're not finished wi' you yet!'

'Yeah!'

'Wanted a word wi' you!'

'Sorry, gentlemen,' Joey said, 'I've got business to attend to.'

And rolling up his window, he sped off before Yizzel's mate or Yizzel could utter another word.

Mission failed. Still, at least Yizzel's mate didn't know about his plans to have therapy. There would have been no living _that_ down.

* * *

><p>'What did you think o' the sandwich?' Billy was practically bouncing up and down in his chair, his face childishly eager. 'It's one of me best deluxe ones yet. Though they don't sell as well as cheese and pickle.'<p>

'You _do_ surprise me,' Martina said, shutting her eyes rather than rolling them. It had been a horrible afternoon, mostly thanks to Billy's Deluxe Sago Pudding Surprise Sandwich. The 'surprise', she had been dismayed to discover, was Branston, and she'd choked it down, trying to pretend to the youngest Boswell, who was watching her eat it, that she thought it was all right (normally she would have just come clean and let him know how revolting his concoction was, but now she was going to have to spend all evening with the Boswells, and the prospect of a row lasting the entire evening was a very real one, she decided against it). As soon as he'd left she'd dashed for the staff bog, where she'd spent the rest of the afternoon with her head down the toilet, feeling like she was going to be sick.

And now Billy was back—Heaven knew why—just before closing, and demanding to know what she thought.

'Don't you 'ave anythin' else ter do?' Martina asked him, trying to dodge answering him, 'I 'ave ter lock up 'ere, and you, as far as I know, 'ave a wife you should be sortin' things out with.'

'_Don't_,' Billy said, scrunching his mouth up, 'talk to me about _Julie_.'

'All right,' she held up one hand, 'but you will 'ave things to do, won't yer?'

'Joey sent me to pick you up.'

Ah. She'd forgotten about that. Martina opened her mouth to say something, but she couldn't find any words. Not Billy. It was bad enough she was being brought back to Kelsall Street under escort—as if she'd run away, as if she had anywhere to go—but why did it have to be by Billy? She'd seen both his car and his sandwich van, and she didn't particularly fancy a trip in either (though if forced to decide between the two, she'd take the van any day.) He'd no doubt keep going on about this ridiculous office idea as well, and that wasn't a conversation she relished.

'Well, are you comin'?' Billy asked.

'What, _now_?' She had wanted to stay behind a bit late, to put off going back to the Boswell house for just a bit longer.

'I've got to pack up!' she insisted.

'Oh, I can help you, no sweat,' said Billy, doing a rather awful imitation of Joey's carefree attitude and pushing a chair in towards the adjacent desk. It wobbled and fell over with a crash.

'_Don't_,' said Martina crossly, 'touch anything! Look, you go and wait outside and I'll finish up 'ere.'

Billy hesitated.

'Go on!' she urged, making shooing motions with her hands. 'It won't take long.'

Billy looked bemused, but got up to go all the same.

'All right,' he said, 'but me Mam said tea is at 'alf-four, so we've got to be back by then.'

Martina took as long as she could to pack up, arranging and rearranging the chairs in front of the desks, filing and refiling stray papers, but no amount of dawdling would put off the inevitable, and soon enough she found herself walking down the back steps with a shudder of apprehension.

'I took me van 'ome,' said Billy, prancing ahead of her with far too much enthusiasm than the situation required, 'thought it might be better if we took _my car_.'

The last two words were spoken with a note of pride, and Martina couldn't disguise her groan as Billy leaned against his hideously dilapidated green Volkswagen, puffing out his chest as if he was presenting the luxury car to end all luxury cars, not something that looked like by all accounts it should have ended up as scrap metal a long time ago. Martina eyed the peeling paint, the wings which seemed on the verge of falling off, the peeling stickers reading 'BILLY + JULIE' (the 'Julie' appeared to have been torn off and replaced a few times) and grimaced.

'I bought it meself, when I first started buskin',' Billy said, seemingly forgetting that she wasn't _technically_ supposed to know about his little earners on the side.

'_Really_,' Martina said in a bored tone.

'Yeah…er…I mean,' Billy put his hands in his pockets, 'that didn't go too good… I mean…people don't part with their money for musicians, do they…?'

She rolled her eyes. 'I was aware you were buskin' you know.'

Billy's face paled. 'You were?'

'I threw 10p in, do you not remember?'

Billy looked as if he didn't know what to say. His gob opened and shut without any words coming forth, and Martina savoured in her little victory at having stunned him.

'Are we goin' back to the 'ouse then?' she asked.

The youngest Boswell jumped, frantically turning his cheerful face back on.

'Yeh…yeah, we'll go 'ome… you just get that door…' he gestured to the passenger side of the car and scuttled away to his own door.

Martina looked at the task in front of her, her smugness suddenly evaporating. Even if she could frighten Billy a little as revenge for that revolting sandwich, she still had to get in his car, and that in itself seemed like a mission she'd struggle to survive.

Tentatively, and worrying about what obscene substances she might find stuck to it, Martina grasped the doorhandle and attempted to pull the car door open. It didn't budge.

Grunting, she applied both hands to the task and tugged at the handle as hard as she could, and the entire thing came away from the body of the car. Martina let go and leapt back as it came down right where her feet had just been.

'It sometimes does tha'!' came Billy's voice, and he reappeared in front of her. 'At least you can get in now!'

She did so, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of the whole situation. This car was more an exhibit of how not to build machinery than a useful means of transport.

Billy reattached the door (_how_ she didn't like to think—it would need to be professionally done to hold properly, and there was a touch of the precarious in the way it leaned against the rest of the vehicle) and slammed it, making the window fall down.

'Okay, then,' he said cheerfully, somehow managing to navigate his way through the pitfalls of door-opening perfectly well, and getting into his own seat without somehow being injured, 'let's go!'

Billy turned the key in the ignition and Martina was enveloped in fumes.

Maybe _that_ was Joey's game all along: slowly poison her to death. First the sandwich, now this. And all under the guise of 'kindness.'

That thought dissolved as soon as Billy revved and clutched, and the car bunny-hopped out into the street, jerking Martina so violently she felt the disgusting sandwich threaten to leave her stomach and come back up her throat.

_Forget poisoning. He's sentenced me to all-round Death-by-Billy._

* * *

><p>When Joey returned home, the sight of his Dad's cart, rusty and filled with over-cooked, over-processed, greasy hot dogs, sitting in front of the house did nothing to cheer him. He'd gone for a drive, staying out most of the day, trying to think over his whole messy situation, not being able to sort anything out. If only Yizzel and his mate hadn't been there, he could at least have set a date, made a plan for how he was going to start improving his life. Well, so much for that. It had been hours before he'd dared approach the street again, for fear they might still be there, and when he did eventually work up the courage to return, the first thing he saw was Dick Wilson, acquaintance, occasional meter-fixer and overall aggressive bloke come stumbling along, presumably drunk, and Joey decided against letting him find out about his troubles.<p>

He'd circled the block, wondering if perhaps he should go down to the DHSS—he'd told Martina he would, after all, and Celia had upped Grandad's cleaning bill, probably as revenge for all Joey's parking antics, and hence he needed to put in a claim for more money—but even going there lacked its usual lustre. He'd stopped by another shop he'd intended to visit (well, at least he could say one thing was accomplished today, but it wasn't much) and picked up something he'd been planning to get, but apart from that, he couldn't keep his mind on any errands. He just hadn't been in the mood to do anything, the disappointment of his earlier encounter, and his anxiety about what might happen when he finally did go through with the therapy, completely taking control of his brain.

And now, to come home and see his Dad there—not that he didn't love him, mind—wasn't exactly a comfort. It meant inevitable family fights, maybe a fly-in visit from Lilo Lil if he stayed too long, and his Mam getting in yet another state. Not exactly Joey's idea of a restful evening.

He clambered out of his car, being sure to lock it, and stood on the pavement, his mind a little bit too foggy for him to know what he was doing or why he wasn't going into the house.

_Roxy…Martina…family…Shifty…therapist…Yizzel_, said his brain.

He paced up and down in front of the house, trying to make sense of why he was so incapable of coherent thought.

_Celia_.

The addition of this name to the list that was playing on a loop in his head finally brought him out of it. He was facing number 32, and the three Boswell-owned (or Boswell-nicked) parking cones Celia had pilfered to place in her space. He smirked, an idea coming to him, and moved to knock the cones out of the way.

Taking a deep breath so as not to breathe in the hot dog smell, Joey stepped onto the road and took hold of the handle of his father's cart. Oh, this was just too good.

Celia was going to _love_ this.

* * *

><p>Martina knew she shouldn't be condoning the use of expensive cars when one was claiming Social Security, but after the horrible trip she'd just endured, she was developing more and more respect for Joey's Jaguar and the smooth way it drove.<p>

Billy's car clanked to a stop, the exhaust pipe exploding as he braked, and she didn't even wait for him to turn off the engine before flinging open the door (or rather flinging _off_ the door, as it once again detached itself from the VW completely) and escaping into the street.

It was such a relief to stand on solid ground and breathe in normal air again, and Martina gave herself a few seconds to truly appreciate all of that. Had she not been trying to maintain her dignity, she might have kissed the ground.

This trip had made one thing quite certain in her mind: she was never accepting a ride from Billy Boswell again.

'Just a minute!' she called the youngest Boswell, who was now struggling to get his own door open, 'I'll get me key out and let you in…well, when I can get out!'

Martina tutted and turned away from him, focussing her attention instead on next door, and the fact that what appeared to be a hot dog stall—_really?_—was stationed in front of it. She looked back at the Boswell cars that had taken up their places down the street, Joey's Jag among them, and then at Celia Higgins's space again, but she couldn't tell which one of them had put it there. The ridiculous creativity of putting a hot dog cart—out of all the things that could have done the job—caused her to suspect it might have been Joey, but then again, he could have just put his own car there, seeing as that was what he had been aiming to do in the first place. Oh, well. There wasn't much point speculating, seeing as one or the other of them would probably give her the lowdown on the situation soon enough.

'Eh,' Billy had come up beside her while she was thinking about this, jingling his key between his fingers, 'I can show you me office now!'

'Oh!' said Martina, her voice dripping with faux-pleasantness, 'good!'

Billy, convinced enough that she was on board with his plan, unlocked the door and pushed his way inside.

_'__No-one wants you around, Freddie Boswell!' _ was the first thing she heard as she stepped into the house. '_You come round here, with your pathetic little CART…'_

Well, that explained where the hot dog stand had come from, anyway, if not who had put it in front of Celia's house. She didn't hear any more of Nellie's rant, though, or have chance to greet either her or Freddie, because Billy was already leading her off up the steps.

'I thought about what you were sayin',' he said, 'about rentin' office space, you know, and now you've got that room, I've found another way to run it from me house!'

'I shudder to think,' said Martina, but Billy wasn't listening to her. He practically jumped onto the landing, sidling past Martina's bedroom and flinging open the door to the adjacent room.

'It's in 'ere!'

Martina reluctantly followed him in.

'Yer _own_ bedroom?' she asked in disbelief, taking in her surroundings. Or rather, his _and _his brothers' bedroom, by the looks of things. The space in the room seemed to have been divided rather neatly into four, each corner containing a bed, and each Boswell brother's specific mess surrounding it up to an invisible line, at which point another brother's mess began. It was evident from a glance which bed belonged to whom. Joey's territory was unmistakeable; a leather jacket draped over the bedpost and several identical pairs of leather shoes lined up underneath, black sheets with gold trim, a paraphernalia of gold trinkets scattered across his bedside table and (surprise, surprise) a couple of posters of various Jaguars on the wall above. Adrian's, predictably, was recognisable by the notebooks and tubes of acrylic paint littering his shelf, a conceivably homemade painting above it and the little stuffed bunny, which he had once accidentally brought to the DHSS and dropped in front of her, peering out from behind his briefcase. Billy's corner, well…the less said the better, and Martina was sincerely hoping he was not going to insist on her going anywhere near it.

A part of her was hit by an uncontrollable urge to laugh at the way each of the Boswell brothers was summed up so perfectly by his living quarters, the way each of their personalities was reflected so well in how they organised their things, what they owned, how they lived. At the same time, though, a small piece of her was slightly overwhelmed, not by being inside the Boswells' holy of holies, but by the fact that, despite being all crowded into the one room, they had still opened up their home to her and given her a whole bedroom to herself, when keeping it would have meant they could have divided up and all gained more personal space. Martina suddenly felt quite choked up, and shook her head to try and force herself into a state of normality.

'Not the 'ole room,' Billy was saying, still going on about his 'business venture,' 'but you know them lit'le walled bits in big offices, sometimes, how they're sort of sectioned off, and people work in 'em?'

'Cubicles?' suggested Martina.

'Yeah, them. Cubicles!' He looked rather pleased with his shiny new word. 'Well, I'm goin' to make me own cubicle! In 'ere!'

The DHSS lady was beyond bothering to point out what a daft idea that was, just for the simple fact that no client was going to willingly come up to somebody's bedroom just to buy a sandwich.

Still, for his own good, and possibly for her own sanity, it might be better to try and talk him out of it.

'Don't you think this sordid little plan will bother yer family? Havin' people in yer 'office' in their room?'

'Nah,' said Billy.

'Well…' she made a face, 'where are you gonna sleep, love? If you use your part o' the room?'

'Oh, I'm not usin' _my bed_,' Billy walked over to the far corner of the room, which could have only been the other brother's, 'I'll use our Jack's.'

And with a sweep of his arm, he pushed a pile of broken, tacky antique figurines off the bed and onto the floor.

Martina let out a laugh, not from amusement so much as from shock at the brash way the youngest Boswell handled matters.

'Eh—it's not funny! I'm gonna _prove_ to you that this helps me business get better.'

'Prove away,' Martina threw her hands up in the air, 'you've got yer work cut out fer you there, love. And, er, what do you think your Jack'll say when 'e comes 'ome and finds his bed's been requisitioned fer your 'office'?'

Billy looked floored, and Martina delivered her final blow. 'And from what I've 'eard, he'll be back any minute.'

'I'll cross that iceberg when I come to it, won't I?'

Martina furrowed her brow, repeating his last sentence over and over in her head until she realised what he was talking about.

'That's not 'ow the expression goes.'

'Yeah, well—'

'Billy, are you—' Adrian's voice entered the fray, followed by the poet himself, who stood in the doorway, jaw dropping when he noticed Martina's presence in the room.

Visibly bracing himself and gathering up his courage, he placed his hands on his hips and attempted to glare at her.

'And I suppose _you're_ in here, lookin' for evidence of benefit fraud. I suppose you just thought you'd come in here when no-one could see you and start rooting through our personal possessions!' He stepped across the room as if the floor was on fire and snatched up his toy bunny.

'Hidin' all your money in there, then, are you?' Martina couldn't resist saying, and was not disappointed by his reaction.

He clutched his bunny closer. 'I just resent the idea that since you moved in, none of us are entitled to any privacy! I said to Joey this would happen—I warned him about you, but he wouldn't listen!'

Martina felt a twinge of anger. It wasn't as if she'd wanted to be here either. It wasn't as if she enjoyed staying in their house, losing her own privacy and seemingly even her right to have a life outside of work. She could do without him turning around and acting like a ratty client if she so much as breathed.

'For your information,' she said coldly, 'I am in here because of your Billy.'

'I was showin' her my plans for my new office!' Billy dived into the conversation, and Adrian's pathetic wrath turned off her and onto his younger brother.

'For goodness' sake, not that office idea _again!_ With you tryin' to put your sandwich stuff all over this room, and now Martina comin' in here as she pleases, my privacy is 'angin' by a thread!' He shook the bunny at Billy as he spoke. 'It won't take much, now, before you find me 'angin' from the ceilin' by one o' me cravats, because I'm just so _desperate_ to escape the nightmare inflicted on me by all of you!'

'Oh, and what about me, then?' Billy countered. 'I'm in a nightmare—Julie's divorcin' me…'

'Julie has been 'divorcing' you all year! Funny how you're always complaining about being in the middle of a divorce, and yet you never actually _get_ divorced!'

'Oh, so you want me to be a spinster, do you?!'

'Spinster?! You clearly don't even know what that word means—buy a dictionary before you start flingin' words around, _Billy_!'

Martina took the opportunity, while they were absorbed in their row, to flee the room and take refuge in her own.

* * *

><p>If Joey was unusually quiet during dinner, nobody really noticed. His Dad's visit had thoroughly occupied his Mam, and the rest of the evening was divided up by Billy shouting at Julie on the phone, Adrian shouting at Billy for ruining every meal with his marital strife, and Adrian, Billy and Martina all shouting at each other about something to do with an office; a row which Joey couldn't really follow, as it seemed to make no sense whatsoever.<p>

In the midst of all of it, he sat picking at his dinner, squashing various items rather than eating them, scraping a pattern in his pudding's golden syrup cap with his spoon rather than breaking into it, taking microscopic sips of his wine every ten minutes or so and then topping up the quarter of an inch he'd drunk. What was he to do about all this? What was he to do about _himself?_ He hadn't done anything today—nothing productive, anyway, apart from that one thing, and wasting time wasn't something he took pride in—he couldn't get himself in the right mindframe to cope with the myriad of things going on at once, and what was more, he had a job tonight. He was supposed to get through six hours of work—the sort of work that required him to be cunning, crafty and charming all at once—while in this state.

If only there was someone he could talk to, but his Mam had her own woes, and her own secrets, and he didn't like to burden her, Adrian would hardly understand, and a conversation with Billy would undoubtedly entail sitting and listening for half an hour or more to complaints about Julie before he actually could get a word in edgeways. If, that was, he could even get a word in edgeways at all. And besides, Joey was supposed to be the one everyone else came to talk to. He couldn't start looking like he didn't know what he was doing himself, or their family unity and strength would all fall apart. They relied on him too much for him to be weak. And he needed to keep being strong and upholding them, not letting them down.

That only left Martina, and given that she was still settling in, and only a few days ago she'd been crying uncontrollably owing to her own problems, not to _mention_ the fact that she still seemed to hold a great deal of resentment towards him, it didn't seem a good idea to go bothering her.

Joey got up from the table early, went into the parlour and tried to think things over, but all he managed to achieve was pouring himself a whisky which he couldn't be bothered to drink.

* * *

><p>Now <em>this<em> was more like it.

Martina hadn't exactly been looking forward to attempting to use the Boswells' bath, given what she'd heard going on this morning, but now she was here, the door shut and bolted, warm water up to her neck and a blissful silence surrounding her for the first time all day, she never wanted to leave.

She could just stay in here forever, she thought, until she dissolved and became part of the bathwater, and would never have to hear another dodgy claim, another row, another _bloody Boswell voice_ ever again.

Martina leaned right back, submerging her hair and feeling it float around her head. Yes, she would stay here, if she could, just floating in water, and maybe she'd somehow float away out to sea , and it wouldn't matter her about being homeless, broke and ruined because of Shifty, and it wouldn't matter that she was living with people she couldn't stand, and already struggling to maintain the boundaries between their working and home relationships, nothing would be at matter at all. She would be water, and at one with the universe, and she'd never have to think about anything again.

'MAR-TI-NAAAA!'

Or not. So much for fantasising about never hearing another Boswell voice again. In this house, that was never going to happen.

'You've been in there for _twenty minutes _now!' Billy hollered at the door, ratting the handle ferociously. 'And thirty seconds! I'm countin'! You're almost as bad as our Joey! Not as bad as our Aveline was though…but you've been in there for AGES! LET ME IN!'

'I'm not finished!' Martina yelled back. She gritted her teeth and growled. She'd only been here one full day and already she felt at breaking point. How was she supposed to survive an indefinite period of this? If there was a way out of it, or she knew how long she was going to have to endure their company, it might make things easier. But all she could see, as _far_ as she could see, was an endless stretch of Boswelldom.

'Twenty one minutes now! Martinaaaaa! Hurry up! I'm busting!'

The doorhandle rattled again, and then the entire structure as Billy shook it. There went her peaceful bath time, then. Her peaceful little moment had gone, and from the looks of things, it was unlikely to be recovered now. Groaning, she stretched her legs and climbed out of the bath.

Billy's hammering continued, and Martina decided to take as long as possible drying herself, dressing in her sleeping kit, going over her hair with a towel, taking an extra ten minutes at least just to spite him.

'Thirty-one minutes and forty seconds!' Billy said, shoving her against the wall in his bid to get into the bathroom. 'I'm gonna tell Joey on you!' He slammed the door behind him, and Martina shook her head, offered up a silent prayer that somehow she could find a way out of this hellhole, and retreated back to her own room again.

* * *

><p>When the clock struck ten, when Billy had settled down in front of the telly for the evening and Adrian was holed up at the kitchen table engrossed in another of his poems, Joey stole away upstairs to change for work.<p>

Fat lot of good taking on a job was going to do. He wasn't up to it; he really wasn't.

He hadn't done anything all week, though, problem was. And if he didn't go out there and make a bit more cash, he might find himself having trouble putting anything in the pot tomorrow.

Joey sighed as he stepped onto the landing, and paused.

His Mam was already asleep, no doubt, but a thin strip of light bled out from under Martina's door. He'd been determined not to bother her about anything, but Joey was at a point where he just needed to talk _now_, if not to achieve some sort of resolution to his worries then simply to take his mind off it, to engage in some sort of conversation that would make him feel more like his normal self.

And Martina could give him that. A good little niggle about Social Security payments and a few teases would benefit him no end.

Gently, he pushed open the door a crack, poking his head around it.

Martina was sitting up in bed, seemingly not doing anything other than staring into space. Her head snapped in his direction.

'What?'

'Can I come in?'

Martina sighed, rolling her eyes. '_Why not?_'

Joey advanced a few inches into the room.

'I mean, nobody_ else_ has left me alone all day.'

He stopped mid-step.

'If it bothers you, I can go…'

'No, no,' she adjusted herself in the bed, rearranging her blankets and folding her hands in her lap. 'What was it you wanted to say, love?'

She looked uncannily like she did behind her counter at work, stern and forbidding, waiting for him to continue as though waiting for martyrdom. It almost made him laugh.

'I just wondered,' he leaned against the dresser, trying to look casual, 'how're you settlin' in, sweetheart? How did you get on today?'

'Ugh,' Martina said instead of answering.

'Rough, eh? Did Billy bring you 'ome like I asked him?'

'Oh, yeah,' she said, a strange, wry smile coming onto her face. 'He brought me back 'ere, all right.' The way she said it caused Joey to raise an eyebrow, but instead of elaborating, Martina smirked and changed the subject.

'I saw an 'ot dog cart in front o' Celia's house this afternoon. Was that you?'

'You know me too well,' Joey teased, coming over and sitting on her bed, 'I'm afraid if it keeps up like this, I may be required to kill you.'

'If you 'aven't been tryin' to already,' Martina snorted. 'Puttin' me through the car ride o' death, all of you tryin' ter stress me into oblivion, attempts at poisonin' me…'

'_Poisoning?_' Joey asked, startled. Martina copped a load of his face and snorted again.

'It was your Billy,' she elaborated, ''e brought me the most _horrendous_ sandwich I have _ever _encountered.'

Joey laughed then, unable to help himself. Oh, how he wished he'd been there, to see the look on Martina's face when Billy presented her with one of his sandwiches. He could just picture it. Billy, though an enthusiastic lad, wasn't exactly the finest gourmet the world had ever seen. Joey himself had only been able to stomach one cheese and pickle sandwich from his brother's van, when it had first been set up, and he had ever since been making sure to avoid Billy at all costs whenever lunchtime rolled around. He'd since noticed the youngest Boswell's combinations had gotten a bit…odd, too, of late, to say the very least.

'Oh, yeah?' he spluttered. 'What was in it?'

'Sago puddin',' Martina shuddered, '…and Branston.'

'HAH!' Joey clapped his hands together, and then frantically tried to gather himself. 'Sorry, sweetheart. Of course, that would've been quite dreadful.'

Martina rolled her eyes. 'Well,' she said, leaning back against her headboard, 'I s'pose it is sort o' funny in retrospect. Not while I was eatin' it, though.'

'I know the feelin'. _Anyway_,' he patted her knee through the blankets, then stood up, 'I'll let you sleep. Just thought I'd check in, see how you were doin'.'

'Oh, yeah? You did that this mornin'. Is every day gonna start and end with you, then?'

Joey smirked. 'Is that some sort of marriage proposal?' he teased.

'_No!'_

Joey chuckled, ruffling her hair as he turned to go. He took a step toward the door, feeling somewhat revitalised. He hadn't really discussed anything with Martina, and yet just being around her and getting that energising vibe he got when coming down the DHSS with one of his latest scams, had put him in a much brighter mood, pushing his Roxy woes and his nerves about trying to see a therapist and all the rest of it away enough to clear his head for his upcoming shift.

He'd give her some flowers or something for that, only she may be a bit confused by the gesture, he reasoned, having not consciously done anything.

As he mulled this over he stopped in front of her door, remembering something he'd done earlier today. He'd been in a haze, but he'd still gotten it done—the one productive result of his otherwise wasted day. And he _did_ have something he could give her, after all.

'Oh, and I almost forgot,' he said, turning back towards her and reaching into his pocket, 'I got this for you earlier today. Thought it might come in handy.' He held out his hand to her, the front door key glistening on his palm.

'Oh!' Martina's eyes were wide. She took it, holding it between her fingertips as if she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. 'I 'adn't thought…_thank you_.' Unlike this morning, when she had grudgingly, or sarcastically, thanked him for letting her stay, this expression of gratitude sounded genuine, and Joey couldn't conceal his grin.

'Well, you're part of this household, aren't you? You have been officially initiated into your bathroom regime, you've survived three meals with us, not to mention one o' Billy's sandwiches…it's about time we made it official, isn't it?' He leaned forward and closed her fingers around the key.

Martina's face broke into a smile—the most genuine, non-sarky-or-malignant smile he thought he'd ever seen.

_'__Thank you_,' she said again.

She was still smiling when he left the room.

* * *

><p><strong>Poor Joey is really hitting breaking point right now, but he's not superhuman; he was bound to struggle at some point. Anyway, stay tuned... big dramas coming next chapter... <strong>


	11. Return of the Prodigal Proddy

**Update time! A little early again but I'm trying to get ahead with this fic now, because I'm also trying to finish off several others I've had on the go for nearly a year now. Anyhow, in good time that'll all come, I guess.**

**This fic may be progressing a little slowly, but unlike most of my Joetina ones, it deals with Martina's developing relationship with the whole Boswell family as much as her relationship with Joey. And that may take a little time to progress. Anyhow, hope you like.**

**Also, this story now has a cover! Remember when I could be bothered to make covers for all my fics? Me neither XD**

* * *

><p><strong>11<strong>

**Return of the Prodigal Proddy**

She sat and looked at the key for a long time after Joey had gone, turning it round between her finger and thumb and trying to make sense of the thoughts whirring through her head. Martina couldn't quite work out why the little piece of metal put a soppy grin on her face, when she had only a few hours ago been fuming at the thought of more days spent in the company of the Boswells. All this meant was she had access to the house, that was all. She could come and go as she pleased without relying on one of the others to let her in.

At the same time, it stood for more than that. It meant she really was here now, that this was…not her _home_, it was the Boswells' _home_…her dwelling-place. The thought crossed her mind for a moment that giving her the key was a gesture of solidarity on Joey's part—that he was trying to make her feel more like _one of them_ and less like an outsider. And indeed, for a moment, the thought of being a part of something other than a government organisation that gave out money, to be included in a family, seemed extremely appealing.

She dwelt on this a little longer, and then shook her head. No, it wasn't like that. She wasn't one of the family, she was just a lodger who now happened to, out of necessity, have a door key. And besides, why would she want to be part of the Boswell family anyway? Aside from the fact they were the most loathed family in all DHSS-dom, and rightly so, being part of their family, as she'd discovered, involved battles over using the bathroom, brawls over who got how much food at meals, shouting matches about ex-wives and ex-husbands and interruptions and overcrowding and… well, she was beginning to think the family idyll Joey touted every single DHSS visit wasn't quite so true after all. She was yet to see any of this 'unity' he went on about. It all seemed like a great pool of dysfunction to her.

Hmm. Well. Anyway, that was neither here nor there, because she _wasn't_ part of their family, nor were they inviting her to become so. And that, Martina decided, was the end of it. She had a key, she could come and go as she pleased and that was all there was to it.

She put her key down on her bedside table, forcing herself to stop admiring it, reached over and switched off her lamp.

* * *

><p>'Thank goodness it's <em>Saturday<em>.'

Adrian threw a disgusted look in Billy's direction as his younger brother slumped down into his chair, yawning loudly and leaning on his arm.

'What difference does it make to you? You don't do anything durin' the week!'

'I have me sandwiches,' Billy snapped.

'That only takes a couple of hours!'

'Now, really, Billy! Adrian!' Nellie scolded, elbowing Billy's arm off the table in order to place two racks of toast on it, 'We had enough o' both your gobs last night! I only wonder what the neighbours must think of us! There're enough rows in 'ere, they might as well not bother payin' for their telly licenses and just listen to us for entertainment!'

'Eh—what about the row you 'ad with me dad last night, then?' Billy insisted. 'See? They're not all _our_ rows that the neighbours can' ear!'

'Yeees, well,' Nellie said, 'that's your father. That's different….'

'How?'

'It just is,' their Mam said hastily. 'When someone leaves you for a – GREAT WALLOPING TART! – ' this phrase was thrown in the direction of the front door, presumably for the neighbours' benefit, or for her own satisfaction, 'you are _entitled_ to express your frustrations with them.'

'Yeah, well, _anyway_,' Billy said, leaving the topic of Lilo Lil and Freddie and going back to his original thread, 'I'm fed up with lookin' at sandwiches all day. At least on the weekend people don't go to work and eat at 'ome, and I can 'ave a rest.'

'Will you listen to 'im?' Adrian sighed in exasperation, 'actin' as if he's worn out by just a couple of hours' work a week! When I was in real estate…' he reached for his briefcase, sitting beside his chair, and clutched it as he spoke, 'I was workin' from nine o'clock in the mornin' to five o'clock in the evenin'- _five days a week, _ and _I_ didn't come down to breakfast on the weekends in a state of near-collapse!'

'Yes, well, your Billy's never been one for surviving an honest day's labour,' said Nellie, cracking another egg over the frying pan, 'even when he was a lad he used to fall asleep at school before it was even lunchtime. Sometimes I wonder about the way God made him. His batteries don't seem to run for very long.'

'Eh—my batteries ran long enough for me to have a _whole baby!_'

'Oh, not again!' cried Adrian. 'Every time anyone says anything to you, you bring up that baby! As if 'avin' babies is the only accomplishment anyone can possibly strive to achieve! If I'd not gotten my A-levels, if I'd not tried to get myself into a respectable job, if I'd just slobbed around instead of working my heart out and then being…made _redundant_… and if I wasn't saving the last of my strength to pour into my creative works, then maybe _I'd_ have had the energy to go around making hundreds of babies!'

'Adrian! Wash your mouth out with soap!' Nellie barked.

'You seemed to have the energy to 'ave nearly made 'undreds of babies with Carmen!'

'_And you, Billy!_'

'Aw, _hey!_' Billy planted his elbow back on the table, squashing his cheek against his fist. 'I can't even _defend_ myself in 'ere.'

'You can defend yourself all you like, so long as what you say isn't offensive!'

Billy was on the verge of explaining, in his Billyish way, that he should be allowed to cause offence because of the way everyone else carried on towards him, but it was at that moment that Martina chose to wander downstairs.

'Mornin',' she said, in a way which sounded…_almost cheerful_, and the two Boswell brothers started.

Billy nudged Adrian with his elbow. '_Did she just say…'_ he began, in a loud whisper that carried across the whole room, and Adrian, mortified, stomped on his foot under the table.

Martina peered at them. 'What's goin' on?'

'It's Saturday,' said Billy.

She half-choked on a scoff. '_Is it?_ I thought it was _Wednesday!'_

'That's enough, Miss!' Nellie warned. 'There will be no more sarcasm at this table!'

Martina waited until the Boswell matriarch turned around before rolling her eyes. Adrian tried not to let his disapproval show. Having her dry, DHSS personality around him was not his cup of tea, and he was sincerely hoping she would go out this weekend, see some friends or something (that was, if she _had _any friends) and she wouldn't be hanging around the house all day for two days. It was hard enough to find inspiration as it was with the family monopolising a great chunk of his time, and with Martina now here on evenings. Working on love poems, he had discovered, and pictures which illustrated the beauty of nature, was downright impossible when one was surrounded by bickering, talk of the gruesome demise of animals and the gruesomeness of childbirth and constant icy glares and sharp words.

'And you can take Grandad's tray round!' Nellie said, plonking it on the sideboard just as Martina had raised her fork to her mouth.

'All _right,'_ she said, tutting.

Nellie put her hands on her hips and made a show of clearing her throat.

Martina, who couldn't have managed to get more than two bites of her breakfast in, raised her head, her frustration radiating from her face.

'What, _now?_'

'Don't you be insolent to me, Madam! If you want to live here, you'd better start pulling your weight! Oh, dear Father, I weep for the way your parents must've brought you up! If you were mine, I'd give you a good smack!'

Martina, livid now, opened her mouth to retaliate.

'Greetings!' The front door banged shut, and Joey sailed into the house, dressed to the nines and looking very satisfied with himself indeed. Martina and Nellie stopped glowering at each other and turned their attention to him.

'Deigned to join us, 'ave you?' Adrian's mood had been soured by the row between his mother and their lodger, and the fact that, though he felt a sense of familial duty and dislike of the woman who embarrassed him so often in public, he wasn't actually sure whose side he was on. 'I needn't ask where you were.'

'No, son, you needn't,' Joey loosened his bow tie. 'Sufficed to say, it was a very good night indeed.'

He leaned over the table, lifting the top from the pot and transferring at least five twenty-pound notes from his pocket to its porcelain belly.

Martina's eyes went wide. 'What was that?'

'Oh, nothing,' Joey said blithely, clanking the lid down again. 'Nothin' for you to fret about.'

Adrian had to admit, what his older brother had just done was rather on the contemptible side. What did he think he was playing at? He was practically giving the game away to Martina, signposting that he was working on the side.

'Where did you get that money from?' she demanded.

Joey just shook his head. 'Oh, is that grilled tomato? Fantastic! I'm just in the mood for some o' that.'

_'__Where did you get that money?'_ Martina growled. '_Where were you?_'

'Where didn't I get it?' Joey winked. 'Where wasn't I?'

'I'm going to find—'

'MARTINA!' Nellie bellowed. 'GRANDAD'S TRAY!'

'All _right,'_ Martina hissed, getting up and stalking across the room. She snatched up the tray clutching it as though she would dearly like to snap it in two. 'Now, is there some _Boswell rule_ about this, some _routine_ I'm supposed ter follow, or can I work this out meself?'

Nellie's mouth almost disappeared for a moment. 'Mine or not, I might be tempted to smack you anyway, one of these days.'

'_Yeah, I'd like ter see you try_,' Martina muttered through gritted teeth.

'Mam,' Joey said calmly. 'Martina. Please. Now you sit down, Mam, get yourself some breakfast.'

He turned to Martina, gently grasping her arms and propelling her around and into the parlour. 'And _you_ pop along with that tray and deliver it to our Grandad, there's a good girl.'

'Don't patronise me, Joey,' Adrian heard her say from the parlour. 'And I'm not gonna forget about that money.'

Adrian could feel it—things were not going to go well today. Perhaps he'd take himself off somewhere else to write his poetry. That would be far better, he thought, than staying here and listening to any more of this.

* * *

><p>Any thoughts of fondness towards the family had dissipated after this morning's conversation. How <em>dare<em> Nellie Boswell speak to her like that? Martina wasn't a child – she _certainly_ wasn't _her_ child—and she did not appreciate someone she barely knew accusing her of being ill-bred. As if Nellie had any right to talk about raising people right, when her sons were constantly on the fiddle and the scrounge. Joey Boswell had just come in and acted extremely suspicious in front of her, and she was sure that was ill-gotten money he'd blatantly delivered to the family table. Whatever he was up to, it was hardly anything for a mother to be proud of.

She trudged over to Number 28, still muttering to herself. Right, then. How did she do this? She looked from the tray to the door, tried to balance it against her left arm and rattled the knocker.

The door swung back just enough for a pinched little face to loom out.

Grandad glared at her through his pince-nez.

'Who are _you?_ Where's one o' me grandsons? They always bring me me breakfast!'

'I'm Martina,' she said, trying to keep her cool around the old man. Unlike with Nellie, who seemed designed to clash with her, and those blasted sons of hers who delighted in rubbing her up the wrong way, she'd never had much against Grandad. His pernickety and forgetful nature was somewhat endearing, and it had been fairly obvious, when Joey first brought him down the DHSS for her to 'inspect', that he knew very little about the schemes the Boswells had going, just reaped the benefits without ever knowing where they came from.

She hoped, anyway. There was the smallest chance he could be pretending to be senile and daft.

'And here's your breakfast.' She carefully proffered the tray, and Grandad snatched it so fast she was nearly sucked into the house with it.

'What's this rubbish they've given me, then?' the old man demanded, flicking the tin cover off his plate with two fingers. 'Bloody underdone bacon, that is. And these eggs don't look free range to me. Complain, I should! They want me to starve!'

Martina resisted rolling her eyes and pointing out to him that, unlike him, many people out there actually _were_ starving, and didn't even have a tray of breakfast to complain about.

'Complain to the Social Security, I should! S'pose I should talk to you!'

Well, at least he seemed to remember who she was now.

'We don't do anythin' about underdone breakfasts, love,' she chided as gently as she could manage. 'You're gonna have ter live with it.'

'What good are you, then?' Grandad snapped. 'You're as much use as a chocolate teapot, you are! Go away, then! Leave me to me pathetic breakfast in peace! Go on, get out of it! PISS OFF!'

And on that note, he slammed the door in her face. Martina stood in front of the door, momentarily too shocked to move. Well, she certainly hadn't expected _that_. Of all the things an enfeebled elderly man could have said…

'Eh—he always does that, love!'

Martina turned in the direction of the voice, relief spreading through her as she beheld Celia Higgins standing outside Number Thirty-Two with a large deck chair in her arms.

'I wouldn't worry about it,' Celia continued. 'He's like that, is Grandad. Lovely old man, but his temper can only take so much.'

'Don't blame 'im, bein' taken care of by the Boswells,' Martina replied, coming over to her. 'Do you need any 'elp with that?'

'No, you're all right, love,' Celia grinned, plonking the chair down on the road and unfolding it so it stretched half the length of her parking spot. 'There. It's part of me revenge plan. Well, the one on Joey, anyway.'

Martina smiled. 'You say that like you've more than one Boswell revenge plan on the go…'

'You could say that…' said Celia, and Martina decided she liked her even more.

'I wouldn't mind some tips sometime, if you'll give them. I'm tryin' ter get revenge on the Boswells meself, only I've not been successful so far.'

'It's just a question of gettin' to know them better,' Celia replied, mischief glinting in her pale eyes. 'You'll soon work out their weak spots, living amongst them. How are you copin', anyway?'

The smile faded from Martina's face. 'I don't know how much more of this I can _stand_,' she admitted, lowering her voice just in case any of the inhabitants of Number Thirty could somehow hear their conversation. 'Oh, I could just _kill_ Shifty fer puttin' me in this situation, I really could.'

'You're not Robinson Crusoe there,' Celia put a hand on her shoulder. 'There are many people out there who've put a bounty on Shifty's head. As for me, I prefer gettin' a more lasting revenge. You know, one he'll remember for the rest of his days, not one that'll end him.'

The DHSS lady frowned. 'You and Shifty? Did you…? Never mind. I don't wanna know.' She pressed her hands to her forehead. 'I'm just fed up with Boswells. _All _of 'em.'

'D'you fancy comin' in for a coffee, love? Escape from them for a little while?'

Martina would have fallen on her and hugged her senseless, only it wasn't exactly a polite thing to do, nor something that reflected her character.

'That would be _wonderful,_' she sighed, '_thank you_.'

Celia patted her on the shoulder, but unlike when Joey Boswell did so, it didn't feel patronising, just friendly and welcoming.

'Come on, then,' she said, gesturing to her open front door, 'I was gonna ask you round sometime anyway.'

And Martina followed her inside, brimming with gratitude. At least, in this mad world she'd been thrown into, it might be possible for her to have one friend who understood her.

* * *

><p>'Well, then,' said Joey, once prayers had been said and everyone was wolfing down their food, 'how did everyone sleep last night?'<p>

The atmosphere was decidedly calmer now Martina had gone off with Grandad's tray (though she'd been gone twenty minutes now, and Joey was becoming concerned she'd simply run off) although an awkward, almost sepulchral silence had hung over the meal, with nobody saying a word to each other. It was, in a way, worse than if they had all been rowing, and Joey desperately wanted to re-establish some sense of normality.

'Well, _you_ didn't sleep at all, by the looks of things.'

Of course it had to be Billy who spoke up first. _And_ of course he had to bring that up straight away. Joey sighed. He had had a rather good night, as work nights went, and had scored himself another night's work (good progress, though it meant he was going to have to try and get some shuteye this afternoon), and had almost been able to forget about the whole awkwardness of the Roxy-therapist situation. But, of course, he wasn't likely to spill any of this to his little brother.

'No, sunshine,' he said, making an effort to sound cheerful, 'I didn't, as it goes, but who needs sleep, eh?'

'Don't ask our Joey personal questions about work,' Nellie jumped into the fray. 'He brought home a decent contribution to the pot this morning—unlike _some_ people I could mention!'

'Eh! I've got a struggling business, I 'ave! _And_ Julie wants to take 'alf the profits once we get divorced—at this rate, I'm not gonna 'ave anything to put in that pot at all, unless I can get this office up and runnin'…'

'When are you going to _learn?_' Adrian's forehead slammed into the table, 'that office idea is _not going to do anything!'_

Joey furrowed his brow, looking from one to the other. 'What is this office you keep goin' on about? You were arguin' about that last night with Martina as well…'

Speaking of which, twenty-five minutes had now elapsed, and she still hadn't returned. If she wasn't here in another five, he'd go and hunt her down himself.

'Martina doesn't get it!' Billy harrumphed. 'I wanna make meself an office to further me business, and she refuses to take it seriously!'

'And how you think anyone could take you seriously when you want to turn _Jack's bed_ into an office, I can't comprehend!' Adrian's head had risen from the surface of the table, now slightly red from the impact. 'It's ridiculous!'

Joey was inclined to agree with him—he knew Billy as a bit stressed because of Julie, and perhaps not thinking straight, but this was _silly_, even for him. Still, he was too tired to really contribute to a full-blown argument right now. He'd have a quiet word with Billy later about the merits of his latest plan. In the meantime, at least the family was acting normal again.

'Well, then,' he said, placing his knife and fork neatly on his plate and rising, 'I'll…just go and see where Martina's got to, then, shall I?'

'Hopefully she's drowned herself in the river!' Nellie hissed. 'Snide little monster!'

'Mam,' Joey warned, 'not nice.' She was still grumbling and Crossing herself as he left the kitchen.

Whatever had happened just before he got home, it hadn't made a positive contribution to Martina's being accepted into the household. He might have to have a private word with her at some point, too, see just what exactly she and Nellie had been saying to each other. Really, they were as bad as each other, the way they retaliated with nasty comments at the slightest thing—far more alike than either of them realised, and perhaps _too_ much so for their own good.

Joey shook his head. Another thing he was going to have to sort out. First things first, though, he'd find out what was taking Martina so long, and then go upstairs and get some sleep before he attempted any mediating.

Kelsall Street was quiet. He scanned the area, picking up on a deck chair he was going to have to get rid of at some point (or sit in, just to get Celia back) and a kid on a bicycle, but no sign of either Martina or Grandad. She wouldn't have gone in there with him, would she?

He wandered over to his Jag, leaning on it as he tried to think. Where would she have gone? Was it worth looking for her, or simply waiting until she realised she had nowhere else to go and came back? As he mulled over his options, a faint, but heart-warmingly familiar clip-clopping sound faded into his hearing. Joey's ears pricked up as the clicking noise came closer, and he whirled around, his face breaking into an involuntary grin as a figure came tottering down the street, her movements restricted by the insanely short skirt and toweringly high heels she was encased in.

'Aveline!' he hollered, his heart lifting, and in two steps he'd bounded up the path towards her, encircling her in his arms and nearly knocking her off her feet. 'We've been missin' you like mad, Princess! Mam's not known what to do with herself!'

He leaned back, holding her at arms' length so as to get a proper look at her.

'So, how's married life, sweetheart?'

Aveline smiled half-heartedly at him before allowing her face to crumble. She burst into tears, great, black, mascara-stained tears oozing down her face, and she collapsed into Joey, sobbing into his neck.

The eldest Boswell was taken aback.

'Hey! Shh, hey, Princess,' he held her closer, rubbing her back, 'sweetheart, what's the matter?'

_Aw, hey, no._ He already had too many crises on his plate as it was._ What NOW?_

'I've…' sniffled Aveline, 'I'm…I'm leavin' Oswald!' And she erupted into another bout of sobbing.

Joey felt his stomach drop, and everything he thought he'd accomplished over the last week broke and fell in pieces around him.

_Oh, no. Not now. Please, not now. _He thought of his own problems, and how they'd already been put on the backburner for so long, how he was struggling to leave them unsolved. He thought of Martina, his heart sinking even further, and of how hard he'd fought to get her here, to keep her here despite the protests of his family. He simply couldn't allow them to turn her out now, just because Aveline had decided to come home. It just wasn't right. They'd want to, though, he knew they'd want to. Nellie's blatant hatred of Martina, coupled with how much she missed her daughter, would make that a given. He couldn't let her go, though, not when she had nowhere. But he couldn't just turn his sister away, either. She was family, and the Boswells always did for family.

_Oh, why now_, _Aveline?_ He groaned internally as he stood there, clutching his sister to him and despairing about the impossibility of the situation. _Why now?_

* * *

><p><strong>Aaand we have a<em> s<em>panner in the works, oh dearie, dearie me. Martina is not going to be pleased. Stay tuned. **


	12. World's Most Pampered Leather Jacket

**Big, long chapter for you this week, and...some stuff happens. Also, I may or may not do an update next week, as early next week I plan to post the first (and less serious) of my Christmas fics to kick off December. 'Twas going to be on the 1st but I'm having surgery so that's going to push it back til sometime later in the week. But still, the first week in December. **

**Anyhow, returning to the here and now and this fic right here, prepare for some turmoil and some awkwardness. Poor Martina has really been pushed to breaking point.**

* * *

><p><strong>12<br>The World's Most Pampered Leather Jacket**

'I'm afraid I 'aven't got any Earl Grey. Just this Breakfast Tea—Shifty's favourite, you know.'

'Yeah, I know,' Martina said, making a face. She'd bought it enough times for him, the undeserving little ratbag, that she no longer held any fondness for it. 'I think I'll pass on that. Have you got any coffee?'

'Yeah, I think we can manage that, love,' Celia threw over her shoulder as she pranced over to the kitchen cupboard and fumbled among the jars within. 'Have you heard from Shifty at all?'

'Not since 'e got arrested, no,' Martina leaned back in her seat, exhaling. 'Thankfully. I wouldn't know what ter say to 'im. I've been bombarded by the rest of 'is family as it is.'

'I can only imagine. Even livin' next_ door_ can be trying sometimes.' Celia scooped instant coffee into a pair of cups and set about adding boiling water. 'You know, when I moved in, me furniture lorry had to circle the block at least six times, just because they wouldn't move their cars!'

Martina couldn't help but laugh at the image. 'I can well believe it.'

'I said to them back then they'd better stop thinking they owned the entire street! They shattered the illusions of a nice, quiet place to live the brochure had described. Still,' she shrugged, 'they're nice enough people, once you get to know them. Salt of the earth…in their own way.'

'I've not yet noticed that.' Martina's mouth turned down just as Celia placed a steaming cup in front of her, causing her hostess to give her a funny look.

'Is there somethin' wrong with it?'

'No, no,' Martina said quickly, picking up her cup and taking a sip. 'It's fine. Really. I was just, er, thrown a bit by that comment about the Boswells.'

'Oh, well, they are a bit of a pain in the neck sometimes, I will give you that,' Celia laughed. She sat down opposite her, taking in a healthy mouthful of coffee from her own cup. 'Especially when one of them gets in their righteous moods. But they do have their merits. And they do all love each other, really.'

Martina sucked in air through her teeth. Maybe they did, and Joey did claim so at every opportunity, but she was yet to see real evidence of that.

Celia noted her sceptical expression and chuckled again. 'You'll get used to 'em, love. And in the meantime, you can help me put a stop to Joey takin' over the entire street, if you like.'

She smirked, relishing this idea. 'Anythin' to put a stop ter Joey and I'm in.'

'Now Joey,' Celia said 'is a perfect example of what I'm talkin' about. I mean, despite the fact that he's gorgeous, he does come across as a bit arrogant at times.'

'He's not as 'gorgeous' as all that,' Martina muttered, wondering why she flushed as she said so.

'Oh—he seems to turn just about everyone's head round here.'

'Blonds aren't really my type,' Martina said, flushing even more violently. It was ridiculous, the amount of blood that was rushing to her head, considering she honestly wasn't interested.

Celia snorted. 'Somehow I don't think Joey's hair grows from his head that colour.'

'Oh, and you need talk.'

Her blunt comment might have been considered derisive or even offensive by some, but Celia simply laughed again, and Martina was filled with gratitude that the other woman seemed to 'get' her dry sense of humour.

'Anyway,' she said, 'like you said, 'e's arrogant. Too much o' that sort o' puts one off, doesn't it?'

'But that was just what I was coming to,' Celia insisted. He might seem arrogant at times, but it's all put on.'

'Could've fooled me,' Martina murmured.

'He does pretend to be shallow, fussing over his leather and his Jaguar and genuinely being flippant, but when it comes down to it, he's one of the sweetest, kindest, most self-sacrificing people I've ever met.'

The DHSS lady choked on her coffee.

'It's true! There's nothing that boy won't do for 'is family, you know. He's been the one who's kept them together through the rough times—and I've seen him do it; I went with them to Rome when his Dad had an 'eart attack and they were all fallin' apart—to the point where he puts his own desires and future on hold.'

'And yet he still drives around in a car like _that.' _Martina wasn't having any of it. She'd believe this when she saw it with her own eyes.

Celia shook her head. 'He took you in at short notice, didn't he?'

And oh how Martina wanted to hate her for saying that, but she couldn't. She did have her there, though. Joey Boswell had taken her in, seemingly for no reason, and though staying with the Boswells had been a torment, the thought was still there. He had been willing to open his family home to her when she had no place else to go, despite barely knowing her, despite them, for the small amount of knowledge they _did_ have of each other, not particularly getting along, despite the fact that she would add financial burden to their household and hadn't a hope of helping them with any expenses. And, despite the fact that the rest of his family weren't taking kindly to her presence there, and probably had had more than one go at him for bringing her into the house, he was, throughout all of this, being inexorably, unyieldingly _kind_ to her.

'Well, yeah,' she admitted, although the reluctance was evident in her voice, 'he did that.'

She took another sip of her coffee, pondering.

'And, of course, you can see where he gets it from. Nellie's the same. She's done everything for her family, despite her husband throwing it all back in her face…one of the kindest people I've ever met.'

'Funny,' Martina humphed, 'she 'asn't been all that kind ter me. Mind you, I s'pose I 'aven't given her much reason.' Celia had barely said anything about Nellie Boswell, and Martina was already beginning to churn up with guilt about their row this morning. She'd have to try and be a bit more considerate, and a bit less snarky from now on, she decided. After all, if it was hard enough for Joey to get her into the house in the first place, it'd be even harder for Nellie to adjust to having her there after years of the same routine and the same people.

Celia went to sit down, and then immediately leapt up, as if it were impossible for her to not be _doing_ something in the kitchen.

'I forgot to ask yer, love, would you like a slice of lemon cake? I'd offer you something else, but it's all I've got at the moment. Shifty's favourite, you know.'

'Thank you, but I won't.' Martina frowned. 'You 'ave a lot o' Shifty's favourite things around, don't yer?'

'Well,' Celia came back over, leaning on the back of her empty chair, 'it's part o' me revenge plan.'

'I don't follow yer logic there, love. Seems to me like stockin' all 'is favourite foods and drinks sounds more like a being-nice-to-him sort o' plan.'

'Ooh, _no_,' there was something quite villainous about Celia's voice now, 'not a bit of it. You see, before he went off to live with you, I bought this house in the knowledge that 'e was livin' a couple of doors down. I had some unfinished business, you see—I never got to punish him for leavin' me and stealin' me brooch the night he left…'

'_Your _ brooch?' Martina burst out before she could stop herself. She thought back to the little gold, flower-shaped pin she'd once worn with pride, then with resignation, and which was tucked into the back of her jewellery box, crammed under everything else, because she hadn't gotten round to throwing it out. 'Oh, God—if I'd known—d'you want it back? I would never have accepted—'

Celia waved away her panic. 'I discovered later that's just how Shifty works. The brooch didn't belong to me either—he stole it from 'is last girl to give to me. Presents it to the woman he's decided he 'loves' now, and then takes it back when he doesn't love 'em anymore and has moved onto his next bit o' skirt. Don't worry about it, love. Keep it, melt it down, sell it—do whatever you like with it. Break the cycle.'

Martina wondered if she _could_ melt it down herself, somehow. There would be something very satisfying about watching it deconstruct and dissolve into a blob of molten fluid in front of her eyes. She might invite Celia to join her—a good-riddance-Shifty party might be entertaining. They'd drink champagne and toast the fact that he was in prison, where neither of them had to deal with him…

'_Anyway_,' Celia went on, and Martina forced the idea down for the moment to listen to her new friend, 'I moved 'ere, knowin' 'e was 'ere, because I wanted him to suffer. You know, to not be allowed to forget. I brought bottles of wine next door that I knew he liked, invited him for the tea and cake he always used to want, did his tie up when he passed, that sort of thing…just showing that I knew how he ticked, and reminding him constantly of what he did to me.' She tapped her nose. _'Revenge.'_

'Ah,' said Martina knowingly. 'Personally I just like to cause _pain_.' She had to admit, though, embarrassing Shifty by reminding him of his shame did sound like a good plan. If the Irishman had ever actually felt enough shame to be bothered by it, that was.

'Well so do I,' Celia said, 'though I'm guessing you go straight in for the attack. I like to creep in slowly… let the pain seep through and then just…settle in… lasts quite a long time when you do it like that.'

'I like the way you think.'

The other woman nodded, her eyes twinkling again. 'I think you and me are gonna get on very well, sweetheart.'

And Martina was inclined to agree.

* * *

><p>'She'll have to go, that's all there is to it!'<p>

'MAM!' Joey protested. 'Where's she gonna go?'

Nellie shot a pointed look at Aveline, who was slumped over the kitchen table snivelling.

'Joey Boswell, I am surprised at you! You would forsake your _own sister_, your _own flesh and blood_, just for that—TART—'

'She's not a _tart_,' Joey growled.

'She flung herself at Shifty!'

Joey hissed through his teeth. His Mam's last statement was completely untrue, but to argue it wasn't going to do much. This conversation was going nowhere, fast. He tried to get it back on track.

'Mam, I made a promise to her. You don't just offer someone shelter and then take it back, say _oh, sorry, _ _I was jokin'_, do you?'

'Well, it wasn't your promise to make, was it? You should've thought this through, Joey! My Aveline—_our_ Aveline—_your sister—_is suffering in her marriage to a damp Proddy liar, with a stupid accent!'

'I don't think Oswald's accent has anythin' to do with it…'

'And a little _posh moustache_…'

'Mam,' Joey warned, desperate not to let the conversation veer off-topic again, 'we'll sort Aveline out, okay?'

'He said…' Aveline began, raising her head from the table, and then burst into tears again.

'This is worse than our Billy!' Adrian decided to jump into the conversation. 'We have enough sobbing at the table when he's been rowin' with Julie, and now it looks like we're all gonna go through it again with _her_! I don't know how many times I have to say it, but my nerves are 'angin' by a thread! 'Angin' by a thread!'

'That's enough o' that now!' Joey snapped. Adrian wasn't the only one whose nerves were wearing thin. Joey had noticed himself struggling—he'd spent all of yesterday in a torment—he still wasn't any closer to sorting himself out, his own problems again relegated to the backseat in favour of everyone else's, and the added complication of Aveline's supposed marriage breakdown did nothing for his constitution. Just once, he wouldn't have minded burying his head in his arms and sobbing all over the dinner table, but of course, there was never any room for him to have a dramatic breakdown, not when there was always _someone_ around him who'd gotten there first. He couldn't afford the luxury of wallowing, when they all put it upon him to pull them out of their own wallows, but not having any time or space to do so was starting to take its toll. Not only that, he hadn't had any sleep for at least twenty hours. He had very little patience right now for this, and he certainly wasn't going to sit around letting their little fights play out when there were things that desperately needed to be sorted out.

'Now look—listen—all of you. Nobody is goin' anywhere. Nobody is losin' their home, nobody is being turned away from their place of refuge, whether it be Aveline, Martina or Mongy. We don't do that to one of our own. We take care of everyone. We're _family_. That's what we do, okay?'

'_She's_ not family!' Nellie interjected. Joey didn't even bother to hold back his groan.

'For goodness' _sake_, Mam! We're goin' in circles, here! We'll find a way for everyone to stay, and that's the end of it. It'll be a squeeze, but we'll manage. Aveline's room is now taken, okay, so Aveline can stay on the sofa until we work somethin' out.'

'_I'm_ not sleepin' on a sofa!' Aveline wailed, bursting into tears yet again. 'What'll it do to me posture! I need to have a dead straight back! I _am_ still a model, you know, even if Oswald doesn't…even if he…' and she was off sobbing again, her words no longer intelligible.

Joey tried to keep his tone calm when dealing with his little sister.

'Princess,' he said, softening his voice, 'there's not much anyone can do at the moment. It'll have to do for the time being.'

'First you give Aveline's room to _that woman_ and then you refuse to let her have it back!' Nellie's voice was climbing in volume and pitch again, the result being that it also was becoming hoarser from her constant shouting, 'I don't know what's come over you, Joey! I don't see why you'd _insist_ on keeping Martina here when your sister is _suffering…_'

'Well_ I_ don't think she should go,' Adrian piped up. The entire table fell silent. Joey felt his eyes threatening to fall out of their sockets.

'What did you say, son?'

'I don't think she should go,' he repeated. 'I mean…don't get me wrong, she does frighten me…but I do have some moral codes to adhere to, you know, and turfing out someone who has nowhere to go seems a bit…_wrong_ to me.'

The others just continued to stare at him.

'I just…' Adrian said, fidgeting, a nervous twitch taking hold of his eye, 'I just think it's wrong…that's all.'

'Yeah, well I don't want to get rid of Martina either,' Billy got to his feet, now apparently having decided it was his turn for input, 'she's the only one who's asked sensible questions about _my office_. She even told me it was called a cubicle.'

Joey didn't follow Billy's logic, but he wasn't about to argue when his youngest brother, usually the most difficult of the pack, seemed willing to make his life a little easier.

'I thought you just said she didn't take it seriously…' Adrian began, but Joey glared at him as furiously as he could.

'Shut _iiiiit_.'

'Well, no, she doesn't,' Billy said, 'but she did tell me it was a cubicle. That counts for summat, doesn't it? And she ate one o' me sandwiches. None o' _you lot_ ever do that.'

'Well, good,' Joey said, still pleasantly surprised with the both of them, 'I'm glad you two have seen sense.'

'Business sense,' said Billy, which Joey ignored.

He shifted his attention to Nellie.

'Mam?'

'Well be it on all your own heads,' Nellie replied. '_Martina_ can sleep on the sofa. Aveline gets the room.'

Aveline, for all she was supposed to be in the depths of despair, looked delighted by this news.

For Joey, this was less pleasing, but given that Jack's bed was now covered in Billy's sandwich-making ingredients, and even Mongy refused to go anywhere near it, and his Mam seemed to be offering the Hobson's choice of the sofa or kicking Martina out, he supposed he'd better agree and end the conversation before she changed her mind.

'Yeah, yeah, okay,' he said, not relishing the idea of having to break this news to her. 'I'll tell her when she gets back. Sorted.' He sighed, pressing his fingertips to his temples. Sometimes, trying to take care of this family was like ploughing concrete. He could feel a migraine coming on.

Oh, things had better quieten down soon, or he wasn't sure how much more of this he'd be able to cope with.

* * *

><p>'I don't know what's the point of <em>fellas<em>. You can't trust 'em, can you, Mam?'

'The men in this world are a bad lot, Aveline,' Nellie replied, ladling a larger portion of scouse into her daughter's bowl than any of the others had gotten so far. 'Especially the _Proddy_ ones. It comes as no surprise to me he's betrayed you! You should have gone with a nice, Catholic boy, Aveline, _then_ you wouldn't have gone wrong.'

'Yeah,' Aveline said, nodding sharply in agreement, and then her face fell and she collapsed into what had to be her eighth or ninth fit of sobs. 'But _Oswald…_ I love 'im, Mam!'

'You never actually said what 'e did,' Billy said, half a mouthful of stew dribbling down his chin as he spoke. One day he'd learn not to talk with his mouth full. _One day._

Aveline's chin wobbled as she turned to him.

'Billy!' Nellie snapped. 'You don't go sticking your nose into your sister's personal crises!'

'Everyone sticks their nose into _my_ personal crises!'

'That's because _your_ personal crises are so public even total strangers from five streets away could recite them by heart,' said Adrian.

'Oswald said…he said…' more than one person sitting around the kitchen table wondered whether she would actually make it to the end of her sentence this time, 'he said I was being _vain!_' And she was off again.

'You _are_ vain,' said Billy.

Joey raised a warning finger.

'Well, she _is_,' the youngest Boswell insisted. 'All that body scrub and hours in the bathroom, and washin' 'er 'air five times a day, and walkin' around in tiny lit'le skirts sayin' _I'm a model aaaaren' aaaai…'_

Aveline's wails increased in volume at the mimicry of her voice.

'_Billy_…' Joey said. 'I won't tell you again!'

'Well, it's not fair! _I _ have marriage problems, and everyone tells me to shut me gob! She comes in 'ere cryin' and all of a sudden everyone's running around after 'er, and Martina 'as to give up her room, just because _she_'s got the hump with Oswald!'

'It's _Aveline's room!_' cried Nellie.

'It's _not,_' said Joey. 'She moved out of it months ago.'

'Sometimes I feel like I don't know you anymore, Joey, I really do…'

Joey would have thrown up his hands, had he not had more restraint. _You try to do something to help others, and this is what you get for it…_

Martina had come home from Celia's, where she had apparently spent most of the day, in a good enough mood that she was even able to have a bit of a joke around with Billy in the parlour, and it had all but broken Joey's heart to have to sit her down and explain the situation to her.

Her shock, morphing into fury, and her total disbelief at what she was hearing, still haunted his brain.

_You mean to say…DO YOU MEAN TO TELL ME… YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS…_

It had taken Martina long enough to process the information and come out with a proper sentence, and when she had, Joey wished she'd remained in a state of shock. He didn't think he'd ever expected to hear words like that coming from someone who always seemed so _proper_, so_ sensible and stern_… He really couldn't blame her for going off her rocker the way she did. It was a surreal situation, and for someone who had already been through what she had, first bankrupted by someone who claimed to love her, then robbed of her home, and thrown headfirst into the intense, full-on chaos that was the Boswell household, to now hear she had lost the use of her bed indefinitely, would, of course, only serve to horrify her.

Still, Joey thought, it would have been nice if she could have at least taken the expression _don't shoot the messenger_ to heart. She'd fired off ten rounds of abuse at him at least.

To make matters worse, Nellie had made an enormous fuss around Aveline—even more so than usual, as if to make a point, and Martina had begun uttering increasingly nasty remarks every time Aveline made a comment about her hair, her makeup, her clothes and how they were all still over at Oswald's. And, of course, doing _that_ had resulted in yet another row with Nellie, one which, Joey was sure, must have been heard by at least half the street.

Martina was next door right now, having volunteered to take Grandad's tray (Joey hadn't been there at the time, but he didn't need to be told to know that she had done this not as a gesture of goodwill but because her anger was such she couldn't remain in the same room with any of them) and he could already anticipate what the next war between her and his Mam would be about.

The front door slammed, the sound reverberating through the parlour.

'She's back,' Adrian muttered, lowering his head to his plate. The poet-stroke-artist had been unfortunate enough to enter the room whilst Martina was letting Joey have it about the new arrangements, and had had a shoe lobbed at his head.

A hush fell over the table as Martina stalked into the kitchen, tossing Grandad's napkin onto the counter without elaborating on why the old man had rejected it.

'Come and sit down,' Joey said quietly, pulling out the chair beside him. Martina walked slowly towards him, still bristling.

'_And_ what do you think you're doing?!' Nellie sprang into action once again.

_Two seconds, Mam. A _whole_ two seconds before you were at each other again. Couldn't you have tried to have some patience?_

'Sitting-down,' Martina said through gritted teeth.

'That,' Nellie boomed, 'is JACK'S SEAT!'

Joey felt his head fall into his hands. He'd been right in his prediction about the next fight.

'_Well_,' Martina said, her eyes wide, producing her best _I'm dangerous_ look, 'he's _certainly free to come and claim it!'_ She held out her hands for a few seconds, smiling viciously when nothing happened. 'Oh, look at that! He _isn't here!_' She sat down with a bump, scraping the chair legs against the floor (probably deliberately) as she pulled it in.

Adrian and Billy, cowering, attempted to scarf mouthfuls of stew without drawing attention to themselves and facing her ire. Nellie went back to her dinner with a ferocity which would have made a man-eating lion sit up and take notes. Aveline, although a little taken aback by the whole scene, went back to her crying, murmuring to herself about Oswald.

An unpleasant near-silence accompanied the meal, and for once, Joey found himself wishing Freddie would burst in, just to diffuse the tension a little, or at least divert his Mam's wrath for a while. He picked at his own meal, pushing lumps of meat to one side of the bowl to drop on the ground for Mongy later and half-heartedly fishing bits of carrot out from the mixture to eat. What a day. He'd had no sleep, and was about to embark on another shift tonight, he'd barely eaten anything, too churned up about Martina, his family and himself to stomach much, and still there was no end to all this mess in sight. If only he had his own personal Joey-figure, who'd take some of the load for him…

'I should've known Oswald would go all preachy,' Aveline said self-pityingly. 'But I didn't think, with 'im bein' a vicar and all, that he'd start goin' high and mighty about me modellin'.'

Nobody responded. Even Billy dared not say anything tactful. Aveline, having had no previous encounters with Martina and having been absent for the DHSS lady's first couple of days with the family, had no idea just how frightening Martina could be once she was angered, and too wrapped up in her own emotional turmoil, she hadn't picked up any of the cues.

'And when I told 'im I 'ad a modellin' job on the day I was supposed to help with the church bring and buy, he said I cared about fame more than me responsibilities. He said I was irresponsible! Then he said he was dis-disappointed in me,' she began to sniffle again, pulling out what appeared to be a spangly handkerchief and dabbing her eyes with it.

'_Serve you right_,' said Martina.

Aveline's head snapped up.

'_You_ don't know anything about it!' she protested.

'That is a _bit_ unfair,' Adrian said, and then immediately cringed, waiting for the onslaught of nasty verbal jabs to hit him.

Oddly enough, Martina didn't send a tongue-lashing his way, instead responding to him as if she considered him on a par with herself. Her wrath seemed to be now squarely fixed on Aveline.

'Well, I ask yer,' she said to him, 'she cancelled a commitment fer a bloody photoshoot—can you blame the man if he was disappointed in 'er?'

She turned to Aveline. 'And I suppose _this_ is the reason you're 'ere now!' She didn't add anything else to the sentence, but the subtext was so thick it dripped in the air: _and robbed me of my bed._

'DON'T YOU SPEAK TO MY DAUGHTER LIKE THAT!' Nellie roared. 'YOU ARE SKATING ON VERY THIN ICE AS IT IS—DON'T THINK I WOULD BE SORRY TO SEE THE BACK OF YOU, _MADAM_—YOU'D HAVE BEEN OUT THIS DOOR HOURS AGO IF IT WEREN'T FOR JOEY! AND MARK MY WORDS, I WISH YOU HAD BEEN! '

'SO DO I!' Martina thundered back. The two of them were on their feet now, in each other's faces, well and truly putting Billy's little outbursts to shame. 'YOU THINK I LIKE BEIN' IN 'ERE? YOU THINK I LIKE BEIN' ANYWHERE _NEAR_ YOU?'

'DON'T YOU—' Nellie began, but Martina had flung her chair back.

'I've 'ad enough of this,' she growled, and stormed off into the parlour.

The others stared after her.

'You carry on with yer dinner,' Joey said, sighing. 'I'll go and sort her out.'

Shoulders slumping, he got up and followed her into the other room.

* * *

><p>Martina sat down hard on the sofa, seething, kicking the coffee table in the process. The telly clicker fell to the ground, and she kicked that, too, sending it sliding about a foot across the floor. This just wasn't fair, any of it. What was this nightmare she'd been sentenced to? <em>Had<em> she really died and gone to Hell? Had Shifty murdered her in her sleep without her realising it, or had she died of malnutrition alone in her flat, and been sentenced to Boswell torture for all eternity? It seemed like she was being stripped of even the small mercies she'd had to cling onto.

'I never thought I'd see _you_ throwin' a tantrum,' Joey remarked.

'Everyone has their limit,' she spat. 'And I've gone right over mine. You can push someone too far, you know! And I've 'ad it up to 'ere with you. _All_ of you. I don't believe it—I do _not_ believe it. I can't believe I 'ave ter listen to that utter _crap_ about her husband! She 'as one row with him—and she's _clearly_ in the wrong—and she's movin' out on 'im? And then you all gather round 'er as if she's been done the wrong to end all wrongs, fussin' over her like she's been injured?!'

'Well,' Joey said, wringing his hands, 'Aveline _is_ our only girl, after all…she is _delicate_…'

'She's a spoilt baby!' Martina snarled. 'I can see what's 'appened, o' course. You all doted on her throughout her childhood and gave her everything her precious little 'eart desired, and now she thinks no-one 'as the right ter tell 'er off…'

'You're just upset about your room…'

'OF COURSE I'M UPSET ABOUT ME ROOM!' Martina shrieked. 'HOW WOULD YOU FEEL IF SOMEONE DECIDED OUT O' THE BLUE THEY WERE GONNA TAKE YER BED AWAY FROM YOU JUST BECAUSE THEY DIDN'T FEEL LIKE…'

'Martina, stop shouting at me. _I_ didn't make this 'appen…'

'YOU LET IT!' she accused.

Joey touched his forehead.

'OH, THAT'S RIGHT, I'M SO TERRIBLE FER GETTIN' UPSET, BUT PERFECT LITTLE PRINCESS IN THERE JUST NEEDS TO MAKE SAD EYES AT YOU AND YOU GIVE 'ER EVERYTHING!'

She slumped back against the sofa, suddenly exhausted. It was hard to keep up such a rage when you were physically and emotionally drained. She settled for giving Joey the filthiest look she could manage.

The eldest Boswell just stood there, watching her, and then came closer, putting his hand firmly on her arm.

'Come on, Martina.' Joey tugged at her elbow. 'We're going for a little walk.'

'I'm all right, thank you,' she said acidly.

_'__Martina_.'

His tone of voice made Martina see red. She crossed her arms. 'You can play parent to that lot, but it won't 'ave an effect on me, love. I don't 'ave ter follow your orders.'

'I think,' Joey went on, his voice still even, much to her annoyance, 'you need to get a bit of air and calm down. Okay? Come for a walk with me.'

'I'm not going to. I hate you.'

'Well, now you're just bein' childish.'

She was fully aware of that, as it happened. Her retort had come out sounding more whiny and petulant than she could have ever imagined herself being, and she despised herself for that. A few days in this place and any air of authority she'd had had disappeared. And now she was using all the last of her strength to avoid kowtowing to Joey Boswell. He had all the power here, she realised, her stomach lurching, and she had none. It was a worst nightmare scenario come true. However Joey had come to be the head of the household, he now wielded that position like a torch, playing peacemaker, mediator, advisor, parent, rule-enforcer, whatever the situation required to keep everyone from killing each other. She'd almost admire the amount of responsibility he took on, if he weren't trying to force his authority on her, too, push her into the little group that followed him around clucking and doing whatever he told them was best. She wasn't one of his siblings-slash-children. She wasn't going to be treated like one.

'And you can talk about people actin' childish, can you?' Martina retorted, crossing her legs and planting herself more firmly in her seat. 'What about your Billy, jumpin' to 'is feet every five minutes if people don't pay 'im enough attention? What about your Aveline, expectin' you to hand over everythin' she wants on a silver platter, just because she turns on the tears? What about your mother? I don't think I've ever _heard_ her speak normally! Seems all she knows how ter do is shout.'

Her words had stung him, she could tell. His face didn't change, but something passed over it briefly—anger, disappointment, perhaps even sadness, she wasn't sure. Joey blinked and shook it off, speaking quietly and calmly once again.

'I'm going to ask you one more time. Come for a walk with me.'

'Ask as many times as you like, love. You won't get anywhere.'

'The alternative is I'll put you over my shoulder and carry you out there.'

Joey's face betrayed the fact that he was deadly serious in this threat, but Martina still refused to move. He was so used to everyone submitting to his command; it'd do him good to realise that outside the Boswell kingdom there were still people who had autonomy over their own lives. She wasn't going to give in, no matter what ridiculous things he said.

'You'd do anythin' to get your way, wouldn't yer?'

'I did say one day I'd try out a fireman's lift on you …that could easily be today, you know.'

'Don't think you can humiliate me so easily, Mister Boswell. I go through enough o' that at work every day; it no longer 'as any effect on me.'

Joey looked at her for a minute, sussing out her face and her stance, and then crossed the room and knelt beside her.

'You wouldn't dare.'

In response, he slid one arm around her waist and one under her knees. Martina's heart jolted as it dawned on her that she was a hair's breadth from an awkward situation. All it would take would be for him to stand...

'Get-_off!_'

She kicked at him, getting him in the shoulder, and shifted herself out of his grasp, getting up and taking three steps toward the door before he could try to pick her up again. Joey righted himself, rubbing his shoulder.

'You've torn the leather on me jacket now—_look.'_

'Well, that'll teach yer, won't it? Don't mess with me, Mister Boswell. I won't tolerate it.'

He shut his eyes, taking a deep breath. '_Please_, just…'

She examined him, taking in the tension in his shoulders, the tight way his eyes were screwed up, the vein starting to protrude from his temple. He was stressed, she realised, monumentally so. This shouldn't have affected her—after all, she left the DHSS each day fearing she would explode into a million tiny pieces from stress, and nobody was sympathetic to _her_—but seeing calm, cool, collected Joey Boswell like this twanged a pathetic little melody on her heartstrings, and she found herself relenting.

'All right,' she said. 'All right. I'll come—if only to get yer off me back…or keep me from endin' up on yours.' She twisted her lip wryly, in the hope that this last tease would help Joey return to his usual self, and she wasn't disappointed when he opened his eyes and ventured a little simper in her direction.

'Come on, then,' he took her arm, and Martina let him lead her out the front door and onto the street.

* * *

><p>They walked in silence for a few yards, heading down the street, following the slope until it reached the river. Joey wasn't looking at her, instead keeping his head tilted upwards, his eyes exploring the soup of clouds that churned above them, either deep in thought, or deliberately keeping her in suspense.<p>

'You're not makin' this very easy for me.'

They came to a stop at the end of the road, and Joey leaned forward, taking hold of the metal bars that separated them and the docks, and slowly moving his head until it came to rest against them.

'I may 'ave been more inclined ter be friendly, Joey, if I didn't 'ave the lot of yer tryin' their hardest to make life uncomfortable for _me_. I mean,' she paused to take a breath, ' I _know_ I'm not welcome 'ere. And before you say anything, there's no use pretendin' I am—the others have made it quite clear.'

Joey lifted his head to look at her. His eyes were red, Martina noticed. She wondered if he'd been having trouble sleeping, or had perhaps been crying earlier on today. Either one made her heartstrings start twanging out their little tune again, though she couldn't explain why they would, when she'd had people cry outright in front of her in the DHSS without causing her to so much as bat an eyelid.

'It's not like that,' he said.

'It _is_ like that. I wasn't born yesterday, you know. It's not even as if I _asked_ to be here—I wouldn't be if you hadn't… well, I mean… it's 'ard enough tryin' to deal with your family at work, without comin' 'ome and bein' made to feel like I did somethin' wrong just for _breathing_, and I don't…I don't _like_ that.' On this last phrase, her voice cracked, and she desperately tried to compose herself before she shed a tear.

The corners of Joey's eyes had turned downward in concern.

'Try and see if from my point o' view—I spend all _day _surrounded by people who hate me, just because it's part of my _job_ ter be hated, and I come back 'ere at the end of it and it all 'appens again, and I've got nowhere to hide from the hatred, not even me own room anymore…it's like I'm bein' _tested_ or somethin'…'

Joey had come up to her as she let all this out, and he now took her in his arms, wrapping one around her and resting one hand on the back of her head, scrunching his fingers gently against her scalp. It wasn't normally her cup of tea, but Martina relaxed into the head massage, letting him comfort her with his touch. It was odd, it really was, that Joey, who had always been the one person guaranteed to infuriate her each day, was now the one she turned to when upset, but when he wasn't goading her, she could almost see what Celia meant about him. Perhaps he _was_ a good soul, really. He'd shown her more caring in the last week or so than she'd seen over the course of her life.

'Nobody hates you,' he said softly. She felt a slight pressure on the top of her head as he kissed it. 'This is just…a difficult adjustment, that's all. We like you.'

She scoffed before she could help herself. 'I can't bring meself to believe that, somehow. You, maybe—though I don't know _why_—but nobody else.'

Joey pulled her even closer, until she was right up against his chest, her forehead fitting against his shoulder. From this position, Martina could have sworn she could feel his heartbeat strumming through her. It seemed quite fast, she noticed. He really _was_ stressed.

'Hey, hey, don't be like that. You know, Adrian stuck up for you this afternoon?'

She frowned, pulling away, unsure she'd heard right.

'He did?'

'Yeah. He was all for you stayin' on—_and_ in the room—regardless of what Aveline did.'

_Huh_. 'Adrian. Really? You're not just makin' this up to stop me complainin', are yer?'

Of the Boswell brothers, Adrian had always seemed the one most opposed to her presence in the household, alternating between acting so terrified of her it bordered on ridiculous, and trying to shout her down about something, treating the situation as if bringing himself to yell at her was as great an accomplishment as defeating a dragon. Him defending her…she just couldn't see it.

'No, sweetheart, I mean it. He really did. He does respect you, you know. He's just not sure how to show it.'

'Oh.' Her voice might have betrayed her unwillingness to put her faith in his words, but she didn't care if it did. She _wanted_ to believe it, really she did, but she had never been one for trusting things which seemed too good to be true.

'_And _Billy.'

This surprised her less, though she still raised an eyebrow about it.

'Well, who's gonna help him with this new office idea if you go?'

A little ringing sound materialised as if from nowhere, dancing through the air and echoing through the empty street, and Martina realised she had just laughed. Bloody Joey; he always knew exactly what to say in any situation. Just one, well-timed comment and he could lighten or darken her mood as he pleased, depending on what he wanted from her. He may not be particularly well-educated, but he was _gifted_, that was for certain. He knew how to be around people, to influence them, to understand what they needed to hear at a given moment.

'True,' she conceded, 'I _am_ the only one daft enough to even listen ter that rubbish…' she sighed again, remembering the other fly in the ointment.

'But Nellie…'

'Mam will be okay,' Joey said, rubbing her shoulder as he released her from his embrace. 'She's just not that big on life-alterin' changes, that's all. I'm sure if you talk it out with her, at some point, and keep on gettin' to know her, you two'll be gettin' on like a house on fire before you know it.'

She doubted this, but she allowed it to slip by without rebuttal, giving him as much of a smile as she could force her mouth into.

'Thank you, Joey,' she said, meaning it. 'Thank you.' He hadn't alleviated her misery, but he'd given it a damn good try, and knowing that somebody in the house genuinely cared about her was good enough for her for now.

He patted her on the head, and she glared, though the fondness she was feeling for him at this moment remained.

Joey jerked his head in the direction of the street. 'Shall we head back home, then?'

'Yeah, all right,' yawning, she stretched her arms over her head, made to take a step, and then hesitated.

'Are _you_ all right?' Joey had just spent a good quarter of an hour trying to reassure _her_, and she felt, in all fairness to him, she should at least attempt to return the favour.

He looked genuinely surprised by her inquiry.

'Yeah, yeah,' he said unconvincingly. 'I'm fine, sweetheart.'

She squinted at him. 'You look on edge ter me.' When he didn't answer, she added another card to her hand. 'I _know_ about on-edge. When you work in my job you experience it on a daily basis.'

It was Joey's turn to chuckle half-heartedly.

'What's wrong?' she demanded.

'It's not that anythin's _wrong_,' he waved his hand, swatting an invisible fly, 'it's just a lot, all at once. Mam, and you, and now Aveline... me…'

'You?'

'I do 'ave problems, you know. I know you wouldn't think it, to gaze upon my magnificence, but…'

He was making her laugh again, but Martina felt this time he'd deployed the tactic in order to change the subject. She attempted to turn it back round again.

'What's wrong with you, then?'

'Never you mind, sweetheart. Never you mind.'

'I—'

'Let's not go into that, okay? It's lovely that you're concerned, but I just need to find a bit o' time to sort it out meself, that's all. And I haven't been able to do that when you and Mam are constantly at each other's throats, on top of everything else, so if you could just give that a bit of a rest…'

Martina suddenly felt immensely guilty. 'I'll try.'

'Good girl.'

'I don't enjoy bein' patronised, you know.'

'Well, how about I don't call you that, and you don't tell the others there's anythin' wrong with me? Deal?'

'All right.' They walked along quietly for a few more paces. Martina reflected on the conversation as they went, wondering about what it might be that Joey was struggling with, remembering Celia's words—_there's nothing that boy won't do for his family…to the point where he puts his own desires and future on hold_…

She was beginning to glimpse that now, just hours after she'd been sure she never would. If only there was something she could say to him. She racked her brains, but the idea she came up with was lousy at best.

She said it anyway.

'Joey?'

'Mm?'

'I'm sorry about yer leather jacket.'

He reached up to touch the little tear in the fabric, where her high heel had snagged it. She must have hit him with some force, she realised, to have done that much damage to leather, and it made her wonder, with no small amount of remorse, about what bruises she might have left him with too.

' 's okay, sunshine. I can get it repaired, no sweat.'

'Oh. Good.'

'Though the DHSS might get presented with the bill…'

'We don't provide fer that sort o' thing…'

'Oh, but you will for _me.'_ He sounded a bit more like the usual Joey again, cheerful and obnoxious, his cares tucked away again to be fretted over at a more private moment.

'I wouldn't bank on that…'

He shook his head.

'_You_,' he said, and then turned to the left, waving as they passed Number Thirty-Two.

'Greetings, Celia!'

Their neighbour had now stationed herself in the deck chair Martina had seen her set up earlier this morning, a wide-brimmed straw hat on her head and a decadent looking drink in hand.

'You've taken a little holiday, I see,' Joey said, 'and gone as far as the street. I_ am_ impressed. That'll be one for the travel journal, won't it?'

'I'm just enjoying use of the few inches of road I can call my own,' Celia replied. 'Seeing as I can do what I like with them…'

'Apart from the fact that they actually belong to my car,' he replied, and Celia threw her drink all over him.

'Eh!' he cried, jumping back too late. 'I'll send you the bill for me dry-cleanin', you know!'

Celia threw back her head and cackled witchily. 'I was hopin' for an excuse to do that!'

'It's not funny!'

'So,' Martina said, covering her mouth to prevent her own peals of laughter escaping, 'the DHSS are payin' for the repairs on it, and Celia's payin' to 'ave it cleaned? This must be the most pampered leather jacket in the 'ole world.'

'You should see what he treats his Jag to,' Celia said, and the two of them fell on each other howling.

'Yes, all right, I think we've 'ad the hearty laugh at my expense now,' Joey said, prising Martina off Celia and steering her towards Number Thirty. 'You'll have to excuse Martina, she's comin' home with me now.'

'Changed your mind about blonds, have you?' Celia called after them, and the DHSS lady had just enough time to turn around and shoot her a shocked look before Joey propelled her into the house.

'What was all that, then?' he asked, shrugging out of his leather jacket and observing the sticky, wet patches on it with distaste.

'What was what?' Martina asked, despite knowing exactly what he meant. Oh, she was going to get Celia for that later.

'Summat about blonds…'

'No idea,' she lied, and thinking of the first thing she could to get him off the topic. 'Joey?'

'Yes?'

'D'you want yer photos back?'

He stopped inspecting his jacket long enough to look up and chortle at her.

'I'd forgotten you 'ad them! If you'd be so kind, sweetheart.'

'I'll go and get them,' she said, turning towards the stairs, and hoping to Heaven she'd be allowed to still enter 'her' room to retrieve things from it, 'but if you ever try to fireman's lift me again, you lose 'em fer a whole week.'

'That's a risk I'm prepared to take,' Joey grinned, and she rolled her eyes as she headed upstairs.

* * *

><p><strong>Yeah, Martina's mood is a bit OTT, but<strong> **she's been through a lot and at some point people snap. Also, the awful portrayal of Aveline is mostly because it's told through the lens of Martina's hardships and Joey's stress at the moment. I normally have a lot more love for her. **

**Stay tuned for next chapter, featuring some Joey shenanigans, and for Martina witnessing something she never would have thought she'd ever see... **


	13. What does that make me, Joey's new pet?

**I've managed to get a few chapters ahead on this again so I can't remember much about this one, editing-wise. It's been a while since I edited it so forgive typos I missed. I can't be bothered to go back through it again. Things are starting to move forward and resolve, though, because we've got to get past these initial hiccups with the family and onto the next major plot point. Mind you, some things said about Joey will be quite important later on. **

**This might also be the last chapter I post before I go away (going Saturday and will be totally internet-less for 7 days.) Sorry it's only a filler one but I promise the next one is slightly more intense and so will hopefully be worth a longer wait.**

* * *

><p><strong>13<strong>

**What does that make me, Joey's new pet?**

Martina still wasn't happy about no longer having a room (or at least not for the foreseeable future), but by the time they returned to the house, she'd calmed down about it, and grudgingly accepted that the Boswells were the Boswells, and they would do things in whatever way, unorthodox and potentially inconsiderate that way might be, that they felt appropriate. She'd suffer their sofa for a couple of nights if she had to.

But, she decided, if Aveline stayed more than a week, she'd put in a serious complaint with Joey. After all, all her possessions were still up there, some of the more personal items stashed in drawers she seriously hoped Aveline would have the courtesy not to open, and there was only so much she could keep down in the parlour (she'd taken the precaution of hiding her undergarments inside a pillowcase for the time being, in case Joey or Billy went snooping through the selection of clothes she'd brought down to keep her going.)

Dinner had concluded by the time she and Joey returned, their walk having meant they had involuntarily foregone pudding, and the Boswell house was now quieting down for the night. Billy was over the road, spending the night at Julie's (which, she'd discovered, would mean stories of divorces and _he said, she said_ tomorrow morning), Aveline had gone upstairs to lounge in the bath for hours (which, she'd discovered, involved several eons of applying all sorts of scrubs and peels and meant she'd have to start having baths in the morning if she ever wanted one) and the others were unwinding in front of the television while Nellie washed up. Martina sat between Adrian and Joey, trying to keep her attention on the telly and ignore the fact that she was spending quality time with the Boswell family, and wondering just what she'd do to keep herself from going mad here. She'd toyed with the idea of trying to find out about all the little lucrative schemes they had going, and itemise all the ways they'd been cheating the DHSS, but so far, just surviving here had taken up most of her energy. Still, perhaps in a while she'd get more accustomed to this life, she'd get used to the strangeness and the unpredictable routines of shouting and Freddie dropping in and Billy running in and out and Aveline leaving Oswald, and then she'd be able to get back on track, and reopen the search.

And in the meantime, there was Celia, lovely, understanding Celia next door, to seek refuge with once in a while.

This mightn't be so bad, Martina reasoned. Well, she might be able to get through it, anyway.

Whatever programme Joey and Adrian were watching ended in a fanfare of hideous music, and both Boswell brothers lunged for the telly clicker as one, each wrapping a hand around one end.

'My turn, I believe!' Joey said blithely, tugging it towards himself.

'You chose last time,' Adrian protested, tugging it back. 'And if I have to watch one more Godfather rerun or antique car programme, my brain will be hangin' by a thread!'

'_No_, Adrian,' Joey protested, 'I don't want to see any more art programmes…there's only so long seascapes can be interestin'…'

Martina leaned forward and between them, taking the remote from their grasp before they noticed her presence.

'Eh!' both carolled. She shrugged at no-one in particular, pointed it at the television and flicked the channel.

A dull news programme began blaring, the announcer reading his items in a monotone, and both brothers' eyes glazed over.

'What's this rubbish, then?' Joey demanded.

'A compromise.' She sat back on the sofa, crossing one leg over the other and smirking in satisfaction. The Boswells on either side of her looked completely nonplussed, as though it had never occurred to them that she might perform such a heinous act as to interfere with their television.

'And you want to watch some bloke with an unconvincing moustache and immovable hair blither on about the Soviet Union?'

'Not particularly,' Martina rested her head back against the upholstery, 'but the two of you were doin' me 'ead in, and anyway, this sounds far more educational for yer than either of _your_ choices.'

Joey was looking at her with a fondness which could have, at a push, bordered on admiration.

'Nice move, sweetheart, nice move.' He settled down, giving paying attention to the programme his best shot. 'No, that won't do me at all. I'm gonna go and see how Grandad's doin'.' He slapped his knee as he stood up, and Martina rolled her eyes.

'Congratulations, Joey,' she teased, 'your attention span managed to last a whole five seconds!'

'I have a _tremendous_ attention span, when the topic is of interest to me,' Joey returned, 'such as what fantastic benefits my fam-i-ly can receive from your lovely place of employment…'

She tutted.

'Oh, and while I'm gone…' Joey said, putting his hand on her shoulder, and Martina flinched, wary of whatever he was going to say, 'why don't you go in there…' he jerked his head towards the kitchen, 'and have a chat with someone?'

She tensed.

'I know what you're askin' o' me,' she said slowly, 'but…'

'No buts, sweetheart. The sooner you and our Mam put your differences aside and talk things out, the sooner we can all have a bit o' peace.'

Martina shifted uncomfortably. 'Er…'

'_Please_, sweetheart. Just go and talk to her.'

'Uh.'

'If it'll make it easier, I'll go and have a word with her first.'

'Well…if I 'ave to…' Martina said hesitantly.

Joey grinned. 'Great! I'll be right back!' And he zipped off into the kitchen, leaving Martina biting her lip so hard it began to go numb.

'Oh, _God_,' she groaned.

'M-Martina?'

She couldn't find the strength or presence of mind to move her head, so she shifted her eyes in Adrian's vague direction, hoping that the action would be enough to answer his timid query.

'I just wanted to say,' Adrian said, speaking as though doing so was an enormous risk to his life, 'that I'm…on your side.' His cheeks reddened, and he shuffled away from her on the sofa.

'On my side? What d'you mean?'

'About Aveline,' he ventured bravely. 'I, er…I just think you should know…I'm on your side about that. You shouldn't have lost the room over that.'

'Oh,' Martina said, Joey's words from earlier coming back to her. She hadn't believed him when he'd said Adrian had stuck up for her. 'Joey didn't tell you to say that, did 'e?'

'No…' it was almost a squeak. 'I thought about it…and that's just what I think, that's all.'

'This isn't some attempt to butter me up ter get an arts grant from me, is it?' she asked, just to watch him tremble.

'No,' he said, his attempt at bravado rearing its head again, 'and I resent the insinuation that I, like my brothers, am not above cheati—' realising he'd put his foot into quite a deep puddle, he got up, running for the stairs, 'I mean…forget that I just…er…goodnight!' And he was off, disappearing onto the second floor and leaving Martina alone in the parlour.

Martina chewed on her lip and pondered this. She had no idea what to make of Adrian, sometimes…but then again, the same could be said for the rest of them. Boswells confounded her. She should consider making a study of them, while she was stuck in such close proximity to them, finding out just exactly how their minds worked and why logic which seemed unfathomable to the rest of the world seemed to make perfect sense to them at times.

'Martina?' Joey's head poked around the wall from inside the kitchen. 'Could you come 'ere, please, sweetheart?'

Her stomach did a heave as she stood up. She was not at all a fan of this reconciliation idea of Joey's. Oh, she could see the practicality of it, but after the terrible day she'd had she was not in the mood to be holding up a white flag and grovelling to anyone. She still did have _some_ shred of reputation left after all, even if this family were intent on completely disregarding it.

'Yeah,' she said, eyeing him as if he were a predator, 'all right.'

The rest of Joey joined his head in the living room, and before she knew it he had one arm around her shoulders, his mouth closer to her ear than she was comfortable with.

'No sarcasm, Martina,' he whispered, 'you know I'm fond of it, normally, but please, just this once, no sarcasm.'

'You know, one would think you were sayin' I was a sarcastic person.' She couldn't resist, but Joey didn't seem to find it funny.

'Just like that. Please take this seriously, Martina. For all our sakes—yours as well, you know! It'll make your life easier as much as the rest of ours.'

'I know, _I know_,' she rolled her eyes, 'I take yer point. Go on, then, lead me to me doom.'

The eldest Boswell gave her another disapproving look.

'Please, Martina,' he said again. 'Take this seriously.'

'I _am_ takin' it seriously,' she said, a hint of irritation shaving at her throat as she spoke. 'Go on, then, and let me get it over with.'

Joey gestured towards the kitchen, and she walked unsteadily in the direction he was pointing to.

Nellie Boswell was up to her elbows in dishwater, scrubbing something off a saucepan with such force it was a wonder she didn't scour right through the bottom of the pan. Martina took a hesitant step closer.

'I know you're there,' Nellie said, not shouting for once, although her tone still didn't seem in any way friendly.

Martina said nothing, cautiously coming up to the sink and picking up a tea towel that lay on the kitchen counter. She picked up one of the plates from the slowly accumulating pile of washed dishes and set about drying it, keeping her eyes, and as much of her focus as was possible, on the task.

'So,' Nellie finished with the pan and slammed it on the draining board, 'Joey tells me you wanted to speak to me?'

_Oh, he does, does he?_ She was going to have words with him after this.

'I…er…' she began rubbing the plate harder with the tea towel, despite it already being dry, unsure where to look, how to respond, '…yeah.'

'Knowing our Joey, I wouldn't be surprised if he made that up to get us in the same room.'

Infinite possibilities for snark, for snide little comments about _our Joey's_ personality and what she thought of him down the DHSS sprang to her head, clambering all over one another in an attempt to be the first one to leave her mouth. Martina bit down on her tongue.

_No sarcasm_, Joey had said, and she guessed he meant no snark either. Still, the temptation was there, the bait had been laid, and not letting one of her trademark disparaging remarks out to roam free was perhaps the most difficult feat she had ever performed, moving in here included.

'Yeah,' she managed to choke out, hastily shutting her mouth again to prevent any more words from escaping.

Nellie stopped what she was doing, turning around to face her. Martina slowly raised her head from the plate to meet the Boswell matriarch's eye, fighting to keep her face neutral and give the older woman no excuse to call her insolent again.

'I have to hand it to our Joey,' Nellie said, suddenly all soft, her voice almost mournful in its pensiveness, 'he was blessed with an incredible caring streak. Of course he'd do something like this.' She put her scouring aside, sitting down at the now-cleared kitchen table, and Martina, unsure exactly what she was supposed to do, followed suit.

'When our Joey was a lad,' Nellie went on, 'he used to bring little stray animals home with him, and his bed would always have one or two little friends seeking refuge and dirtying his sheets—ones he'd found on the street with a poorly paw or a starving look about them or simply ones he thought didn't have a home to call their own…' she looked thoughtfully in Martina's direction. 'He doesn't seem to have grown out of the habit, even now.'

'What does that make me, then, Joey's new pet?' Martina burst out before she could stop herself. Nellie gave her a look and she kicked herself mentally. _No sarcasm. No snide comments_. _You were at least going to try at that._

'Sorry.'

Nellie narrowed her eyes momentarily, then went on as if the intrusion hadn't happened.

'He takes on a lot of responsibility for all of us, he does, as well…I suppose in some way this could be to atone for what…_that Shifty_…did.'

The way she said the words _that Shifty_, spiked with malice and resentment, made Martina's heart melt towards her just a little.

'Oh, he's a rotten one, that one—I don't see how anyone could've fallen for him sooner than a blue-arsed fly!'

'At least you can swat a fly when it gets ter be a nuisance,' Martina said. Nellie looked at her with a new kind of interest.

'You're not still _involved_ with him, are you? Not going to sneak out to that prison and see him?'

'God, no!' It had never even crossed her mind that she'd be seeing Shifty again, let alone that she'd go out of her way to do so, and enter some dingy gaol somewhere up the country, the prospect of which, she had to admit, frightened her, in order to be reunited with him. To her, their relationship had been terminated the second she had been evicted from her flat, even if she hadn't said so to his face in quite so many words. She'd thought telling him to get out would have gotten the message across well enough, and even if it hadn't, there wasn't much he could do about it anyway, given his current situation, unless in the fullness of time…

'Well, _good_. And I can tell you this much, he will not be allowed through the door of _this_ house again, no matter _what_ the others might say… I'm not having him crawling back in here with all his stolen things in tow, trying to charm everyone to look the other way while he sets about stuffing the silverware in his pockets…'

She was getting worked up now, but for once, Martina was pleased to notice, it didn't seem to revolve around her. And Shifty wasn't coming back here; well, that was a relief. She wouldn't know what to say to him if he had turned up while she was still here. Not that she'd be here that long, because she still intended to move out once she had some money…

'Was 'e one o' Joey's strays, too?' she couldn't resist quipping, bringing to a halt the older woman's rant.

Nellie's face turned to a glare once more.

'Sorry,' muttered Martina.

'I used to be like you once,' Nellie Boswell said distantly, and Martina wasn't sure whether she was actually addressing her or merely thinking aloud, 'hot-headed and a little bit more cocky—thought I was entitled to the world…'

_That's not like me at all_, Martina thought, but refrained from saying out loud. She'd always felt she had never been entitled to anything, and everything she had had always been taken from her. Still, she sensed Nellie was trying to be sympathetic towards her in some way, and that she had probably better not spoil that moment.

'Then I met Freddie Boswell and had my first child at eighteen and I soon learned that the world revolved around everyone _but_ me. I stopped answering back and let my husband sit at the rudder while I ran around after our children and tried to teach them right from wrong…and then he ran off with that _huge-chested Irishwoman_ and I had to readjust the way I thought of things.'

'Lilo Lil?' Martina asked, a fragment of a conversation with Joey and his Grandad down the DHSS ringing a little bell in her mind.

Nellie slammed her hands on the table, making Martina jump. 'YOU DO NOT MENTION THAT NAME IN THIS HOUSE! EVER!'

'All right!' she held up her hands in surrender. 'I'm sorry!'

'Yes, _Lilo Lil_,' Nellie spat, making the name sound like the filthiest, most taboo of all swear words, 'came into the house to clean it, left with my husband. Maybe I never stood up for myself enough, perhaps that's why he went off, wanted some more excitement and unpredictability…now I just get angry at him. That's where you'll head unless you change your attitude—angry at people, angry a the world, angry at yourself.'

'Bit late ter lock _that_ stable door…' Martina murmured. She couldn't confess to understand Nellie's argument, which seemed to have changed tack at some point and now no longer made any sense—was she saying one _should_ stand up for oneself, or not to?—but the part about being angry at the world, and particularly herself, struck a chord with her. It seemed to be her default mood these days.

'I wanted so much more for my children,' Nellie said. 'I wanted them to pursue whatever they dreamed up, live the lives they were meant to live, instead of feeling it was all out of their reach like I did… and then Billy married that Julie and it was nothing but woe from the get-go, and now my Aveline has gotten herself entangled with that _Proddy Vicar_, and I can only watch her destroy her life…'

'You really don't like Osmond, then?'

'_Oswald._'

'Oswald,' Martina repeated.

'We were off to a bad start as soon as Aveline told me that name…it's not that, though. It's the fact that he's a _Proddy_…could she not have found a nice Catholic lad, who wouldn't be constantly trying to change her?'

'Would that 'ave mattered if they were 'appy?'

'But they're _not_, _are they?'_ Nellie said in a mocking tone. And Joey had told _Martina_ off for being snide. Huh. 'I don't see how a Catholic could ever be happy with a …_you're_ not Church of England, are you?'

The question came suddenly, unexpectedly. Martina found herself a little thrown.

'N-o…'she said slowly, hoping she wouldn't be asked for elaboration.

'Well, good,' Nellie replied, and Martina felt it a tad too imprudent to mention the fact that she was Lutheran and not Catholic right now. She was, after all, trying to make some sort of amends with this woman, not cause even more antagonism. That bridge would be crossed, she decided, at a later date. If it needed to be at all.

'And Aveline could be back here and we could be a proper family again, the way we were back in the day…but we're not back in the day anymore, and even with her here now it isn't the same. Part of her still belongs at that cold, mouldy old vicarage, even if she is trying to resist that…Martina, I don't like you.'

This apparent afterthought seemed to have nothing to do with the statements that had preceded it, but Martina could vaguely guess the train of thought from whence it came. Aveline leaving, Aveline's room, _her_…

The DHSS lady was more befuddled, however, by Nellie's actions than her words. The woman had just admitted to disliking her, and yet her hand had now come to rest on top of Martina's in an almost tender, loving gesture. It didn't fit at all, and in all honesty, Martina wasn't sure how she was meant to react to, or feel about, it.

'No,' she replied, for want of any better response.

'I didn't want you in my house, I don't like you being where my Aveline used to sit, and sleep, reminding me that my daughter is no longer a part of my immediate family unit, even if she does visit, I don't like the way you act as if you're above all my children just because you have a job and they're claiming off you to support themselves and deliberately being as nasty as you possibly can…I don't like you.'

'No.'

'But,' said Nellie, patting her hand, 'I could do. I could. _If_, that is, you made more of an effort to _behave_ yourself and stop treating my family like they're beneath you, and act a bit more like one of us instead of always sneering at everything we do.'

'Yeah,' Martina said, a bit stunned. 'Yes.'

One of the Boswells?_ Not bloody likely_. Still, agreement would get her into a more comfortable situation for the time being, until the time came for her to seek freedom and her own flat. She'd never be one of the Boswells, no matter what anyone said, but to have them off her back while she was here would be a blessing.

'You're lucky to be here, you know.'

Boy, didn't she know it? Joey had preached that to her many a time already, and even Celia had been quick to remind her of her current beggars-can't-be-choosers position earlier today. Annoyingly, as always, it was an argument that left her with no rebuttal. She _could_ be on the streets, instead of under a roof, starving instead of being provided with three square meals a day (even if those kept getting interrupted so she could take Grandad's tray, and if some of them consisted of Billy's disgusting sandwiches). Many people who landed in her current financial situation were a lot worse off than she was at this moment in time.

'I know,' she said. 'Thank you.'

'Now, then,' Nellie said, removing her hand from Martina's and getting up, 'you can help me finish these pots.'

And Martina, rather than saying anything, stood up and did as she was told.

* * *

><p>It occurred to Martina, at around midnight that night, that she could always have thrown herself on Celia's mercy and asked if she had a spare room. It might have been a damn sight better than this, anyway. She shifted on the Boswells' sofa, on which she had been tossing and turning for the better part of two hours, trying in vain to get herself into a more comfortable position. For a household that drained an awful lot of the state's money, one would have thought they could have afforded to repair their settee a bit. The thing was old and manky, and more than a little lumpy, and while it sufficed during the day to sit on, having one's whole body stretched across it in an attempt to get some sleep was another matter. Not only that, the front room couldn't be described in any degree of honesty as being 'dark.' The streetlamp out the front, although not <em>directly<em> in front of the house, still shone right through the front window, the little white net curtains doing next to nothing to block it out.

Martina adjusted the blankets she'd been given around herself and blew out a breath of air.

It was a bit late to go and see Celia now. Her next-door-neighbour would probably be asleep, and even if she hadn't been, it was a little too forward to push someone you'd only really just met for accommodation, especially as she didn't know how long Aveline's little sleepover was going to last. She couldn't just turn up and ask to use one of her spare rooms—if indeed Celia had any set up—for an indefinite period of time. That may have been how Aveline operated, but not Martina.

She sighed, thrashing about again and readjusting the cushions she'd commandeered for pillows, thumping them flat then trying to fluff them up again. Nothing worked. She just wasn't going to get any sleep tonight. Instead, she lay on her back, staring at the not-all-that-darkened ceiling and wondering what her next move was. She'd vowed to start finding out what all the Boswells' moneymaking schemes were, and she supposed tomorrow—Sunday—while she still didn't have to go to work, she might be able to make a start on that somehow. And when she did go back to work, when her paycheque came on Thursday, she could start organising her money in a way which meant some was put aside for the bond on a new flat. Surely it wouldn't take her more than a few weeks…months…oh, _no_, she was going to be here for _ages_ while she saved up. In the meantime, she had to be nice to Nellie and pretend she wasn't bothered by the way the little Boswells sneaked around earning money while coming to her at work and claiming they were broke, and hope that they could all form some semblance of getting along while she struggled on in this purgatory, just holding out for the day she could be free of the lot of them…

Behind her, the staircase creaked, and Martina jumped, sitting up in fright.

'Only me,' Joey whispered, tiptoeing down the stairs. 'Go back to sleep.'

'That would imply I've been at all,' Martina retorted, squinting at him. 'What are you doin'?'

In the barely dark room, it wasn't hard for Martina to see Joey quite clearly, and to notice the fact that he was done up in the same smart, stylish tuxedo he'd had on this morning, when he'd returned from somewhere he hadn't disclosed. Cufflinks glistened from his wrists, and in his hand he clutched what looked rather like a leather wallet.

'Where are you goin' dressed up at this time o' night?'

'Never you mind,' Joey said, laughing a little too uneasily to appear as confident as he would have liked. 'Never you mind.'

'You're up to something,' she accused.

'Night, Martina. I'll see you in the morning.' He inched his way towards the door.

Martina's suspicions, aroused the moment she'd noticed him there, were now sent into overdrive. Perhaps this was what he'd been doing all along, and she was on the threshold of catching him at it.

'As a lodger in this insane asylum you call an 'ouse,' she said, 'I 'ave a responsibility to report any suspicious activity I see me housemates engagin' in—especially if they're somehow connected to why you've got all that flash gear despite bein' on Social Security—that I might happen ter see.'

'And that is why,' Joey said, coming back over towards the sofa, 'you won't see anything.'

He leaned over, kissing her on the forehead. 'Sweet dreams.'

Martina ignored his patronising behaviour, focussing instead on the fact that he'd just indirectly admitted he was up to no good.

'You _are_ goin' out to cheat the Social Security!' she exclaimed.

'Go to sleep, will you?'

'I mean,' she went on, disregarding this remark, 'I always knew you _were_, but ter actually _see_ you goin' off ter do it…'

'Martina,' Joey said, sounding annoyed now, 'there's no way of provin' where I'm goin', or what I'm doin'.'

'Except until you bring 'ome another wad o' money tomorrow morning. Well, I never imagined you'd be _this_ blatant…'

'Well, you weren't supposed to be sleepin' in 'ere, were you?' Joey said, and then froze, realising he might have said too much.

'I knew it,' Martina said, 'I _knew_ you were doin' somethin'—wait until they hear about this at work…'

'No-one will hear anything, because no-one will know where I've gone.' Joey seemed far too sure of this for her liking. 'Now it might be in your best interests to get some rest.'

'No!' she cried, flinging off her blankets and standing. 'I'm not just gonna lie 'ere while you go off and break the law!'

Joey made a frustrated noise, turned and walked out the house. Martina hastened to follow him, shivering as she stepped onto the street and realising that, dressed in only a flimsy, imitation-silk nightdress with nothing on her feet at all, and standing outside on a chilly November evening, she was likely to freeze.

Nonetheless, she trotted behind him, trailing him as he made his way to his car, which had somehow ended up in Celia's space again despite the placement of the deck chair there earlier today.

'You're not goin' anywhere without me knowin' about it, Mister Boswell. Mark my words, if you think you're gettin' away with this, right under me nose, when it's been my life's ambition to catch you out for five years now, you've got another thing comin'.'

'Go back to _bed_, Martina.' He fiddled with his car keys. 'I am very busy, and I've got to be up all night again, after havin' no sleep today.'

'Well, that serves you right for doing things you shouldn't be that _require_ you to operate at night!' She grabbed at the passenger door of the Jag, determined not to let him get away without taking her with him, but, much to her dismay, it was locked from the inside. She huffed, putting her hands on her hips.

'You're not gettin' in that car.'

Joey laughed, an arrogant, _try and stop me_ noise, and walked around to the driver's door.

'Don't you dare get in that car! Joey Boswell, I mean it, if you get in that car…'

'You'll what, sweetheart?' He seemed amused again now, his frustration having made way for sheer delight at his own irksomeness, and the fact that he was once again triumphing over her and the DHSS. 'You'll run after it in your nightie? Now that I'd like to see.'

'I'll…I'll phone the police!'

'Oh? And tell them what? That I dressed up nicely and went for a drive?'

She growled. Joey shook his head and got into the Jag.

'Joey Boswell, I'll give you one last chance to do the right thing!' she warned, aware she was using the same tactic he'd tried on her earlier today to get her to walk with him, aware that, unlike him, she was failing miserably, having no threats or leverage against him.

He started the engine.

'I'll take yer photos again!' she called desperately, though she knew even as she said it that her words would do nothing to his resolve.

'If you can find them!' Joey called out the window, sticking his arm out and waving to her. 'Goodnight, Martina!'

And he drove off down the street, still waving to her. Martina watched him go, gaping.

_Oh, you will pay for that, Joey Boswell_, she thought, shivering and wrapping her arms around herself. _I will find out where you've been, don't you worry about that. And then, Mister Boswell, I will get you_.

Comforting herself with that thought, she went back inside and warmed up under the blankets on the sofa, spending the wee hours contemplating how she might investigate Joey's secret night-time disappearances, and savouring the smug thought that soon, very soon, she may well have finally _got him_.

* * *

><p><strong>Oh dear, naughty Joey... stay tuned for some shady Joey-ness and a very determined Martina. <strong>


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